


What Happens After?

by jinlin5



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Dom/sub, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Fighting, Fluff, Homophobic Language, M/M, Top Ian Gallagher, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23513077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinlin5/pseuds/jinlin5
Summary: “Okay, well what the fuck are we waiting for asswipe,” Mickey flicked his cigarette butt out to the side, his gruff words a translucent mask for his shaky nerves.Ian smirked, placing his palm gently onto the small of Mickey’s back without a word, pushing the stocky man forward, maneuvering him deftly through the sporadic groups of people gathered around the entrance.“I swear to god, Ian, if I can’t get a decent beer in this joint, I’m gonna lose my shit.” Mickey groused as Ian reached for the door handle, deftly swinging the door wide open and ushering the reluctant man inside.“Shut the fuck up, Mick,” Ian whispered playfully in his husband’s ear as the door slammed behind them.This is the product of my imagination running wild with what takes place about a year and a half after Ian and Mickey getting hitched. Follow them through some good and bad times while adjusting to their marriage, parenthood, and the struggles of building a life apart from the bad neighborhood they grew up in, without losing who they are.(Mostly fluff/angst with some smut mixed in for good measure in later chapters)(Doesn't align with cannon some of the time but oh well)
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 24
Kudos: 105





	1. Relax, Mick!

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Characters in this chapter use some homophobic language, nothing that has not appeared on the show already! 
> 
> Mickey and Ian meet up with some of Ian's friends and Mickey gets sucked into a social situation that he doesn't want to be involved in, just to make Ian happy.

“Jesus Christ Gallagher,” Mickey hollered the second he saw the tall red head round the corner, long legs making quick work of the sidewalk, “could you have taken any longer? I’m freezing my fuckin tits off over here!” He spluttered around his cigarette, smoke from his last ferocious drag escaping quickly from his lips into the frigid dusk air.

Ian cracked a sly smile as he sped his strides up to a light jog in order to meet up with his husband who stood next to the bus shelter where they had agreed to meet ( _fuckin’ half a goddamn hour ago,_ Mickey thought grumpily). Even from nearly half a block away, Mickey could see that Ian’s smile was a sincere one ( _all fuckin’ teeth_ , Mickey liked to joke), and although it irked the man to no end, he was happy to see it.

“Sorry Mick!” Ian yelled, the scarf he had hurriedly knotted around his neck flapping in the slipstream of wind behind him as he approached Mickey, who was struggling like hell not to shiver in his old threadbare jean jacket. “Got held up. We had a fuckin runner right before my shift ended, jumped right out of the ambulance when I turned my back for one second, chased him for like four goddamn blocks. Swear to god, the mother fucker had two sprained ankles and still out ran me- ME Mick, it was-“

Mickey grunted to get his husband to stop rambling. “Can we just get wherever the fuck we’re going?” He barked “Then you can tell me your whole life story ‘Kay?” Ian finally reached the other man, pulling him in for a peck on the cheek before snatching the cigarette from Mickey’s reluctant hand and taking a drag.

“Someone’s cranky,” he said, his voice slightly strained from holding the smoke in his lungs as he spoke. He let the puff out and took a second drag before handing it back to Mickey.

Mickey snatched it back between his fingers and took one last puff from the butt before flicking it onto the filthy Chicago sidewalk. “Someone’s fucking _cold_ ,” he growled.

Ian chuckled, reaching up to his own neck to dislodge the scarf from around his thick jacket collar, and unceremoniously wrapped it around his husband's neck. “No wonder, all you’ve got on is that ratty old jean jacket and it’s only, like, 30 degrees out. You shoulda layered tough guy.”

Despite the corners of his mouth being turn downward, Mickey was secretly thankful for Ian’s signature thoughtfulness, and he casually wrapped the scarf around a second time to show his appreciation “Thanks,” he huffed, “now let’s fuckin gooooo.” Mickey grasped the red head’s hand and began yanking him down the street.

“Jesus, Okay, okay,” Ian laughed widening his strides to match Mickey’s brisk pace. He knew that Mickey was bound to be on edge tonight.

Mick wasn’t exactly a people person, even now, after all of the opportunities he had to socialize with Ian’s friends over the first year and a half after getting hitched. Tonight Ian had planned to meet with a group of his pals, something they did once a month whenever they found the time in their busy lives to get together. Ian somehow persuaded Mickey to come along every time, yet the man never seemed to warm up to Ian’s compadres anymore than to shake their hands (reluctantly) and join in on conversations (sparingly). Ian didn’t ride him about the minimal effort though; he knew better than anyone alive that Mickey Milkovich struggled to open up to others. Although it may not appear so to the novice onlooker, Ian knew that simply agreeing to join them once a month was a great deal of effort for Mickey to expend, and he recognized it as his husband's unique way of showing how much he cared.

After they had rushed a few blocks under the bright street lamps of the side of Chicago they had only dreamt about visiting as poor Southside hood-rats, Ian recognized Mickey’s pace slowing to a walk, and his calloused hand- which had been almost uncomfortably clenched around Ian’s fingers- relaxed, his wedding ring no longer digging a trench in the red head’s fair skin. Ian smiled at the sidewalk as he felt Mickey’s stalky fingers smoothly intertwine with his slim ones.

“How was your day?” Mickey asked out of nowhere, shifting his eyes to glance up at Ian. The tone of his voice was very different from the one that had greeted Ian only moments ago, making the sudden transformation from gruff and annoyed, to slow and soft- as soft as a Milkovich could ever hope to be. “I mean besides the psycho runner and shit.”

Ian took a deep breath of the cool air that surrounded them before replying, “My day was good, Mick. You know how it is, regular EMT shit. Plenty of breaks, contusions, and bleeding, but everyone pulled through. Nothing serious.” Mickey nodded and a slight smile pulled at his mouth. Ian loved helping the community and shit. What a mush. “How was your day?” Ian countered, squeezing his husband's hand.

Mickey’s smile turned from pleasant to slightly sadistic before Ian’s eyes. “Fuckin’ excellent. Spent a couple hours at The Club today. Got in a bunch K.O.’s- and my time keeps getting better and better.” The sadistic smile made sense to Ian now. “The Club” was a bare knuckle boxing collective started up by a few of the local Ukrainian thugs that had rolled with the Milkovich clan for years. Mickey had been going a few times a week for the last six months, and loved every second off it, even though he came home with a new set of bruises every time. Ian felt like a goddamn pussy for worrying about his husband’s risky new hobby. The only thing that kept him from saying something was the knowledge that Mickey was prone to violent outbursts and he would rather the thug let out the rage in a (semi) controlled environment than on an unsuspecting random on the street. _That’s how we end up back in prison_ , Ian thought wryly, only half joking with himself.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Ian mused, glancing around at the happy, clean looking people exiting and entering the bars and gastro pubs they passed at every corner.

“Yeah, well,” Mickey chuckled, “It felt really, really good to knock Olesky’s fuckin front teeth out of the bastard’s head today.” He said this so nonchalantly that it took Ian a moment to realize what was off about the statement. Wide eyed, he turned his gaze sharply to Mickey, who was wearing a contented smile a mile long.

“The fuck you just say Mick?” Ian asked incredulously.

Mickey shrugged, “I said I knocked a mother fucker’s front teeth out of his goddamn head today. What about it?” His blue eyes and his words daring Ian to respond. “Felt fucking amazing.”

“That’s just a figure of speech right?” Ian questioned, finding himself struggling to hold back a laugh, “You didn’t actually fuckin-“

“- Yes the fuck I did.” Mickey held up the hand that was still laced between Ian’s fingers, and Ian took in the sight of the dark red and purple bruises peppering his husband’s knuckles, broken skin still bloody in spots where Mickey obviously did a rushed clean up of the injury. Mickey dropped their hands before continuing, “Front teeth hit the floor before he did. He was bleeding like his mouth was on the rag.”

Ian grimaced at Mickey’s colourful yet disgusting simile. “Jesus fucking Christ, Mick!” Ian could help but laugh and shake his head. “What did the poor fucker do to you anyway?”

“He… he called me ‘short-stack’,” Mickey slowed his voice as he grumbled the answer, avoiding Ian’s gaze. Ian’s breath hitched as he threw his head back laughing, slowing his walk down until he was not moving at all, just to have a moment to enjoy the humour of what Mickey was describing. Standing at 5’7”, Ian knew that one of Mickey’s greatest insecurities was his height. The violent outburst made complete sense to him now.

Mickey rolled his eyes all the way back in his head and yanked Ian forward, picking up the pace of his walk so as to not give his husband any more time to revel in his embarrassment. “C’mon,” he grunted under his breath as Ian continued to cackle loudly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ian chuckled when he finally caught his breath, “but a man lost his front teeth today because he had the absolute balls to call Mickey Milkovich ‘short-stack’. That is comedy gold.”

Mickey managed a smirk despite his deep seated embarrassment, and used his free hand to dig another cigarette out of his pocket. He placed the filter between his lips and lit it swiftly. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled around the cigarette. “Anyway, I’m not allowed back for a week. Said I broke the rules or some shit. Which is stupid. I mean what’s the point of practising if you can’t incapacitate a motherfucker.”

Ian finally quelled his laughter as he took the lead, switching course abruptly and dragging a surprised Mickey around a corner.

“Where is this place where’s going?” Mickey questioned, suddenly remembering that he was cold and cranky because he was in for a long night of socializing. “You never answered me when I texted you earlier.”

“It’s called Gladwell’s,” Ian answered, and noticed Mickey’s eyebrows screw together at the name, “I don’t fuckin know. It was Trevor’s turn to pick the place.”

Mickey frowned automatically at the mention of Trevor’s name. He only had to see and interact with the guy once a month but even that was pushing it. Trevor and Ian had kept in touch over the years ( _fuck knows why, after what Ian did to him_ , Mickey thought), and they managed to remain friends despite their awkward past. Mickey wanted to support Ian having friends and shit, but it irked him to no end that his husband had any sort of relationship with a guy that he used to- Mickey cut the thought short because it made his blood boil to think about Ian boning someone else. It made Mickey feel slightly guilty to hold on to such a petty grudge. Only slightly. He took a long pensive drag of his cigarette.

Ian felt Mickey’s bruised hand clench when he brought up Trevor. He quickly kept taking to distract Mickey from his brooding, “I think it’s just one more block away,” he muttered, squeezing his husband hand reassuringly.

When they finally reached the restaurant, Mickey gazed up at the facade of the building, feeling out of place. It was an old brick building, obviously revamped by hipsters for the purpose of serving overpriced food and overly complicated, bizarrely named cocktails. Fairy lights hung around the iron fences that lined the walkway to the front entrance, where gaggles of outrageously dressed twenty-somethings laughed and blew clouds of vape and smoke into the cold night air, many of them obviously intoxicated. The sound of a local live band playing something obscure and bass-heavy met Mickey’s ears, already obnoxiously loud despite the closed door muffling them. A neon sign shone down on him from above, reading “Gladwell’s” in loose cursive letters, flickering slightly.

As Mickey held a staring contest with the converted brownstone, Ian finally untangled their fingers in order to reach for the phone in his pocket, reading the text he realized he had been unintentionally ignoring for the past fifteen minutes. “They’re already inside,” he declared, breaking Mickey’s trance. The brunette blinked and swallowed, pausing one last time before glancing at his husband.

“Okay, well what the fuck are we waiting for asswipe,” Mickey flicked his cigarette butt out to the side, his gruff words a translucent mask for his shaky nerves.

Ian smirked, placing his palm gently onto the small of Mickey’s back without a word, pushing the stocky man forward, maneuvering him deftly through the sporadic groups of people gathered around the entrance.

“I swear to god, Ian, if I can’t get a decent beer in this joint, I’m gonna lose my shit.” Mickey groused as Ian reached for the door handle, deftly swinging the door wide open and ushering the reluctant man inside.

“Shut the fuck up, Mick,” Ian whispered playfully in his husband’s ear as the door slammed behind them.

_____________________________________________________________ 

The moment Mickey stepped inside, a blast of deliciously hot air hit his face and the sound of ukulele’s and acoustic guitar nearly smacked into him like a new age freight train. He immediately began clawing at his neck, frantically loosening the scarf Ian had lent him, as it suddenly felt a lot less comforting and a lot more noose-like. Ian wordlessly took the scarf from Mickey’s outstretched palm, throwing it haphazardly around a nearby coat rack before shedding his own thick coat and placing it on the hook below.

Mickey allowed Ian to grab on to the collars of his jean jacket from behind him and pull the jacket down over his arms and hands before looping it around the same hook. Mickey normally may have resisted such a gesture, especially with how edgy he felt, but he was momentarily to busy glancing around at the crowded “resto-bar” or whatever the fuck these hippydippy little shits wanted to call it.

In front of him, groups of people sat and stood around incredibly tall tables and chairs, laughing and sipping wine around mouthfuls of food. Around the perimeter of the restaurant, couples and foursomes sat at a soft looking booths, either clearly on date night, or catching up with old friends. In the far corner on a slightly elevated stage, the band- which consisted of a man playing guitar and singing in a gravelly tone with all his might, a women playing the ukulele and a bearded man seated with an honest to fuck cello between his legs. To the right of him, the bar area was packed to the brim with groups of people sitting or standing and sipping from (in Mickey’s opinion) pansy-looking drinks of all shapes and sizes. Waiters whisked food past him on large plates that rested on their hands and shoulders. Mickey had to admit, it smelled fucking amazing.

Ian’s large hand pressing down on his shoulder broke him out of his trance and Mickey briefly glanced up at his husband before realizing that some broad was talking to them. Mickey focused on her, straining to hear above the high keening sounds of ukulele in the background. She was young and thin, about mid-twenties, wearing a black a-line dress and black heals, with her immaculately curled hair perched in a high ponytail atop her head. The name tag attached to her chest read “Gabby”.

“Hi there!” she greeted the two men, a little too perky and bubbly for Mickey’s taste. She clutched large menus in her hand, which were attached to big clipboards for some reason Mickey couldn’t comprehend. “For two?” She chirped expectantly.

“No actually!” Ian replied jauntily, “we’re supposed to be meeting some- oh there they are!” He pointed to Mickey’s right and then shot his hand out for a little wave. Mickey followed his gaze and saw Trevor twisting his torso around in a circular booth, waving back at the couple.

“Oh great,” Gabby smiled, gesturing to the table, “someone will be over to take drink orders in a minute!”

“Thanks,” Ian nodded, his hand shifting to grasp the back of Mickey’s neck just above the collar of his flannel button up, practically steering him toward the table and small group awaiting their arrival. Mickey grunted, shaking off Ian’s grasp as they neared the booth as if to say, I fuckin got this. At this point he was just thankful the booth was far away from the strumming band in the opposite corner.

“Hey fellas!” Trevor exclaimed brightly as they approached. He was a small guy, round brown eyes fixed on the couple, his large smile revealing two white rows of perfect teeth below and above two tufts of facial hair. Mickey glanced briefly at the two men sitting to Trevors right in the booth. Both looked friendly enough, which made Mickey more anxious for some reason. The man closest to Trevor was nearly twice his size and soft around the middle, sporting a thick beard and man bun, wiry circular glasses perched halfway down his nose, he had his large arm wrapped comfortably around the top of the booth, behind Trevor. The other man sitting at the was much more slight, but Mickey knew he was the tallest of all of them when he stood. He sat with his legs crossed under the table, his sharp jaw resting in the palms of his hands. Tattoos peaked out from the collar of his shirt, and continued down both arms to the wrists, and his white blond hair was short and spiked with gel, highlighting the blue dye that was streaked into the tips. Mickey knew his name was Greyson and that Ian had met him at some point during his sketchy striping days at the ‘Fairytale’.

Mickey watched as Ian slid into the booth next to Trevor, and he waited for him to get settled before joining in, sliding beside his husband, nodding a polite greeting to Trevor and the others at the table. Ian pushed in close to Trevor for a moment, giving him a side hug, “Hi Trev,” he saluted, before turning his attention to the other at the table, “Hey Greyson, hey Luke, you guys look great!”

Trevor observed the exchange between Ian and the other men, before turning his attention to Mickey, who was radiating an awkward energy, even from the other side of the booth. “Hey Mickey! Long time no see. I assume you’re keeping out of trouble?” Trevor said lightheartedly. Mickey flashed a half-hearted smile back at the man, making a concerted effort to squash the irrational sense of hate and jealousy that gathered in his throat.

“Yep, I’m trying.” Mickey replied curtly, which was a straight up lie. Micky never tried to stay out of anything. Trouble found him easily, and he never backed down.

“Good guy,” Trevor laughed, gesturing down the table. “I know you’ve met Greyson a couple of times.” Mickey looked at Greyson who’s eyes were trained on the brunette, and Greyson gave a sly wave.

“Hi Mick,” he mouthed sweetly. Mickey bit the inside of his cheek and grabbed Ian’s hand under the table. Greyson was a goddamn flirt. Ian had told Mickey previously that Greyson was the town pump of the stripping community, and his libido was off the charts. Mickey had to admit, he found the man oddly attractive in a twinky (read faggoty) way.

“This is my boyfriend Luke,” Trevor spoke, catching Mickey’s attention once more, as he squeezed the arm of the man next to him, “Luke, this is Ian’s infamous husband I’ve been telling you about.”

Luke grinned kindly at Mickey, causing him to wonder briefly exactly what adjectives Trevor had used while describing him. Luke extended a massive hand across the table, and Mickey returned the gesture, firmly accepting the handshake. The man’s strong fingers made Mickey’s hand feel small and childlike, and so Mickey kept the handshake brief. “Pleasure to meet you man.” Luke offered, leaving Mickey unsure of how to respond. The thug did what came naturally, which was to nod and grunt as a stand in for words like “same here” or “likewise”.

Ian was having a grand time witnessing his husband’s awkward interactions with his friends, but decided to take pity on Mickey by cutting the mildly tense greetings short. “Well now that we’re all acquainted-“ he didn’t have time to finish the thought before another peppy waitress approached the table, a small tablet in hand.

“Evening guys! Hope you’re doing well! My name is Emily and I’m gonna be your server tonight. I see some of you already have drinks,” Mickey glanced at the table, noticing this for the first time as well. Emily turned to face Ian and Mickey. “Can I start you guys off with anything?”

Mickey took a deep breath. “Beer,” he grunted. There was a brief pause before Emily spoke. “Any particular kind?” She giggled. Mickey leaned back and crossed his arms.

“Whatever get me buzzed.” He spat. “S’long as it doesn’t taste like fuckin watered down fairy-piss.” Ian would have been slightly mortified at Mickey’s rough respond had not Emily laughed and nodded.

“No fairy piss, got it, I think I’ve got something you’ll like.” She retorted, while Mickey smirked approvingly.

Ian leaned over and thanked the waitress with his eyes for her strong constitution before ordering a rum and coke, and a water, to balance out the alcohol with his meds. “Great,” Emily said, tapping at her tablet a few times with her acrylic nails. “Now have we decided on food yet?”

Ian glanced down, realizing they had never gotten the menus to begin with. He glanced at Trevor who raised his eyebrows slightly. “Apps?” He asked. Ian nodded happily.

“I trust you,” Ian spoke through a grin. Mickey watched the exchange in confused annoyance, wondering why his husband and Trevor communicated so fluidly.

“We’re just going to get a bunch of apps for the table I think,” Trevor spoke to Emily, and turned his menu clipboard around, beginning to point out what they wanted. Mickey’s brows furrowed. Why does this little bitch get to decide what I want?

As if reading his mind, Ian grasped Mickey’s knee under the table, stopping it from bouncing the way it had been since he sat down. He leaned in to whisper into his husband’s ear, “Chill Mick, Trevor knows this place. I promise you’ll like it.”

Mickey licked his lips, and hissed back, “I better. I’m fuckin starving.”

Once Emily had taken their order and turned on her heels go inform the kitchen, Greyson took a sip of his long-island iced tea and spoke up, “So Ian, how’s life? It’s like you get more ripped every time I see you…” He snickered.

Ian smirked and shrugged. “I’ve been good, can’t complain! The EMT shit really keeps me on my toes, plus Mick and I go for runs pretty much every morning.” The red-head playfully threw his arm around Mickey, squeezing his shoulder. Mickey couldn’t help but enjoy the contact.

Greyson cooed in response to this, and Trevor scoffed, “Jeez, couple goals.” He motioned to Luke. “Can’t get this guy out for a run with me to save my life.”

“Babe, I have a fucking heart murmur, we’ve been over this,” Luke laughed, shaking his head, pushing his glasses further up onto the bridge of his nose. “I’ll lift weights all day, but cardio puts me in the hospital.”

“Mickey used to hate it,” Ian countered, “but he hates the idea of me being faster than him even more so…” This warranted a relatively light punch in the arm from Mickey.

“Alright tough guy,” Mickey grumbled, but the slight smile on his face was real for the first time since entering the restaurant.

“So I know you’ve got a pretty sweet gig as an EMT Ian,” Luke began, taking the small-talk bull by the horn, and moving his attention to Mickey, “But Trevor’s never mentioned what you do for a living, Mickey.”

Mickey grimaced slightly. He hated talking about himself; especially this particular subject for the time being. Reluctantly he spoke up. “Yeah man- um,” Mickey scratched his eyebrow with his thumbnail, thinking about how to respond, “I’m.. I guess I’m in between jobs right now.” That was all Mickey was willing to divulge, preferring not too explain to Ian’s friends that he had been fired from the Old Army security team a month ago for nearly beating a senile old man to death for snatching a bra from the sales floor. Mickey wasn’t sorry thought, served the old perverted fuck right. Hard to feel sorry for a guy who tried to break Mickey’s knees with his cane. He had been too pissed off for a week after being let go to even start to look for a job. Plus, Ian had recently received yet another raise as the golden boy at work, so Mickey felt comfortable taking a breather from dealing with stupid fucks everyday. It helped that rent on their shitty little apartment had been covered for the next six months by the last of Ian’s “Fiona Money”.

“Oh shit,” Trevor exclaimed, “sorry to hear that man.” The genuine concern in his voice making Mickey resent him even more. “Come to think of it, we managed to get job placements for a bunch of the kids in my Youth Program. I have a list of places that are hiring! If you want, I can even take a copy of your resume and put in a good word at a few of the places.”

Mickey’s entire body tensed suddenly, and he opened his mouth to snap at Trevor, most likely to tell him he didn’t need some faggoty ass kid-wrangler to get him a job. Ian swiftly cut him off, clamping his fingers onto his husband’s shoulder tight enough to leave bruises. “That would be fuckin’ awesome Trev, thank you! We’ll get you the resume ASAP, right Mick?”

Mickey managed to stifle himself, gritting his teeth. “Mhm,” he nodded, trying to figure out how the fuck he was supposed to write a resume. Almost every “job” he had been given since the age of nine had been either illegal or undocumented. The only legitimate employment he ever had was in the wake of incarceration, via his probation officers. Mickey was acutely aware that these facts did not look good on a resume.

Mercifully, Emily finally returned with drinks for Ian and himself. “One rum and coke, one water,” she announced, picking up both glasses from the tray perched on her forearm and sliding them across to Ian. “And one non-pissy beer.” She placed a tall glass of deep golden liquid in front of Mickey. “Enjoy… apps will be out in just a few minutes!” She smiled cheekily at the brunette before leaving them once again.

Grunting, Mickey picked up the glass and swallowed half of it’s contents in one gulp as Ian, Greyson, Trevor and Luke resumed their small talk and catching up. Slamming the glass a little too hard onto the table, he gasped for air and belched into his chest.

It was gonna be a long fucking night.

Mickey was about four beers deep before he finally started to relax. He had been steadily munching away at the plate of nachos that had been set before him about 20 minutes earlier. The table in front of him was packed with plates of various shit Trevor had ordered, but the nachos were the only thing that looked mildly appealing to him, so he had been hogging the platter since it had arrived. The other men at the table were too tipsy and wrapped up in their conversations to notice.

Ian was nursing his second rum and coke, and Mickey could tell that he was already halfway drunk despite his occasional sips of water. He was laughing too hard at jokes Trevor and Greyson were cracking that weren’t even fuckin funny. Mickey gazed at his husband. Shit, maybe they were funny and Mickey was too gone to notice. He envied Ian’s ability to relate to others with ease.

“I can’t believe you’re still suckin’ cock at the Fairytale man,” he heard Ian exclaim to Greyson.

Greyson tipped his head back to finish his third long-island, and casually flipped the red-head off, “What can I say, I like old rich man cock, and it loves me. Not all of us can make n’ honest man of ourselvesss Ian Gallagher,” he slurred, eyes shifting mischievously to Mickey, “or is it Ian Milkovich now?”

Mickey barked a laugh, the sound coming from out of the blue so suddenly it surprised Ian a bit. “That fuckin hilarious,” Mickey crowed, “you think I could get this orange bitch to take my last name?”

Ian chuckled, drunkenly leaning his weight into Mickey. Mickey slipped his arm around Ian’s waist affectionately.

“Not a chance in hell!” Ian chuckled. “Once a Gallagher always a fuckin Gallagher.”

“Speaking of Gallagher’s,” Trevor interjected, “How’s the family? Still crazy?”

Ian beamed at the mention of his siblings. “Still crazy as all hell, but they’re doing great. Lip and Tammy are living in that dump of a house they managed to fix up somehow, and their kid, Freddie, is getting so big! Takin his first steps and shit.” He paused to dip a battered shrimp in sauce before tossing it in his mouth. “Debbie and Franny are still holding down the homestead, Debbie’s doing night-welding, which pays a fuck ton more than day welding apparently. Carl’s attending police academy full time, doing really well too to everyone’s surprise. And Liam- Liam’s almost 12 holy shit- he’s doing amazing in school, that kid is scary smart, just like Lip.” Ian realized his tipsy ass was wandering. “And who know’s where the fuck Frank is. I don’t fuckin care.” He concluded.

“Nice story rambles.” Mickey praises sarcastically, reaching up and patting his husband's head with his bruised hand. Truth be told it made him happy to hear Ian talking about the Gallagher clan so fondly- they had been nothing but a source of stress for much of the red-head’s life.

“That’s great to hear man,” Trevor seemed just a tipsy as Ian, “You heard from Fiona lately?”

Mickey grimaced as he felt Ian’s shoulders tighten up against his chest. Touchy subject.

Ian let out a loud sigh, reaching out clumsily to grasp his drink. “Couple months ago,” he muttered, watching the dwindling ice cubes swim around in the glass before taking a swig. “She’s fine I guess. She’s busy. We’re busy. Everyone’s fuckin busy.” Mickey knew that Ian disliked thinking about his older sister if at all possible. Although he’d originally been at peace with the idea of Fiona leaving Chicago to begin her own separate life, he grew steadily resentful of her over the years, as communication between them died out. _Not everyone just gets to fuckin up stakes and leave whenever they feel like it_ , Mickey had overheard him saying to Lip when he thought his husband wasn’t listening.

“Yeah dude,” Trevor seemed to get the message by the way Ian replied, and Mickey was glad to see him back off.

There was a moment of relative silence at the table, filled up only by the sounds of the band and the smacking of lips as the drunken men ate.

“Okay who wants to ditch this place and go and have some real goddamn fun?” Greyson exclaimed abruptly.

“Jesus, what do you have in mind?” Luke coughed, choking slightly on a bite of food at the spontaneity of Greyson’s question.

“Well I don’t know about you guys,” Greyson gestured to the empty glass in front of him, “But I’ve got a fuckin healthy buzz on and i don’t plan on stopping until i’m wasted. I think I passed an interesting looking “gay’s only” club on the way here, and since we are a bunch of drunk queers…” what he was implying by this statement appeared self evident to everyone at the table, especially Mickey, who bristled at being associated with the type of queer he knew Greyson to be.

“Fuck yeah!” Ian roared, bolting upright from his slumped position in the crook of his husband’s arm. “Let’s do it!”

Mickey groaned internally, letting his frustration leak out into his facial expressions, knitting his arched brows together. All he wanted was to get through this hell of an outing, take Ian home, catch up on an episode of “The Deadliest Catch” or some other mindless shit, and go the fuck to bed. Why did he have to be married to such a party-hound; Mickey’s idea of a party was smoking a pack and a half of Pall Mall’s and getting drunk alone on his couch.

Trevor glanced at Luke, who took his hand and said, “Sound’s fuckin great! Are you in Trev?”

“Of course,” Trevor snorted, and said in Ian’s general direction, “it’ll be just like old times!”

Mickey’s fists clenched below the table. He had heard about the old times the man was referring to. He didn’t want to have to kill a man tonight, but he geared himself up anyway, just in case.

“What do you say Mickey?” Greyson purred, “Come have fun with us…”

“Mickey… Mickey… Mickey!” Luke began chanting in his deep, monotone voice. Soon the others chimed in, the cacophony rising in volume. Mickey rolled his eyes so hard it hurt.

“Mickey! Mickey!” Ian’s voice was the loudest of them all, almost giggling from the combination of alcohol and the giddiness of pissing his husband off.

Mickey finally snapped. “Alright alright ya bunch of fags!” He barked, his voice taking on his signature frightening tone. “I’ll fuckin go just shut the fuck up!” The men around him cheered at their success, Trevor and Luke high-fiving like their team just scored a basket that won the game.

“Shit, alright! Let’s pay and split!” Greyson called out, already tripping over himself to clamber from the booth. As the other’s filed out of the booth, Ian reached for his back pocket, feeling for his wallet. Mickey placed a hand on his husbands shoulder, using it as leverage to push himself up out of the booth and onto his feet. He didn’t realize quite how drunk he was until he was standing, wobbling slightly before balancing himself out.

“Nah man,” Mickey waved at Ian reaching for his own wallet, pulling the leather fold from his pocket. “Put that away, I got this.”

Ian grinned as Mickey offered him his free hand, helping to hoist the red head out of the booth. Ian stumbled into him slightly and Mickey had to brace himself again the impact, “You sure Mick?” he mumbled into Mickey’s shoulder.

Mickey’s mouth curled into a smile, and he took the opportunity to crane his neck downward, pressing his lips to Ian’s forehead. “Yeah, my treat. Plus you’re just a little too loaded to be fuckin around with money right now.” _So am I_ , Mickey realized, _but that’s besides the point._

“Yeah you got a point there,” Ian huffed as he propelled himself off of Mickey’s stocky chest. Casting his gaze over to the bar, Ian saw that Luke was talking to Emily as he swiped his card. Trevor and Greyson were already at the coat rack, piling their coats on, preparing to brave the frigid night air. “Don’t wanna get left behind do we?” Ian teases as he took a few steps towards the bar.

“God forbid,” Mickey scoffed, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time. The screen read 12:01am. “Fuck,” he breathed, motioning to the others, “go get your shit on while I pay.” Mickey clapped his strong hand down on his husband's shoulder before he could turn to go. “We’re not home by 3, I will personally beat your pretty ass black and blue, we clear?” He looked Ian in the eyes, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.

Ian brushes the hand off his shoulder. “Would you fuckin loosen up Mickey?” He taunted.

“Would you fuckin suck me off?” Mickey sneered defensively.

“Maybe later.” Ian retorted, without a hint of sarcasm. Mickey was left shaking his head as Ian sauntered off to join his friends. Reaching back for his beer on the table, he finished off the glass, and then the rest of Ian’s rum and coke for good measure.

He had a feeling he was gonna need it.


	2. Up For a Good Time?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey tries and fails to keep his jealously in check around an intoxicated Trevor, and Ian is forced to teach him a lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: The homophobia and transphobia typical of Mickey in this chapter are not representative of my own feelings or opinions in anyway!   
> Also this is not intended to be a Trevor-hate story line, but as a plot device to show Mickey struggling with himself. 
> 
> Happy reading! :)

It was a “gays only” club alright. The bouncers sized Mickey up like a piece of meat until he grabbed Ian’s ass to claim him, as if to say, “Calm down, I’m one of you.” They let the men in without protest after this.

The music inside the club was deafeningly loud and the air was thick with smoke and sweat. Bodies crowded the dance floor in a writhing wave, lusty and desperate. After they had checked their coats and accessories, Greyson broke away from the group almost immediately, heading for the bar. Ian knew what his goal was for the night, as the tall blond sauntered over to the first group of older men he saw, planting himself square on the lap of a grey haired, grey suited fox. The rest of the group watched from afar, baffled by just how straightforward Greyson’s actions were.

“I admire his tenacity,” Luke chuckled, grabbing Trevor's hand to lead him to the bar as well. “Let’s go get more drinks babe!” 

“C’mon!” Trevor grinned excitedly and motioned for Mickey and Ian to follow them. Mickey saw how happy Ian looked at that moment, and hated himself a little for trying to begrudge him of that. He just hated this whole thing; Mickey wanted to spend time with Ian. All these other people were getting in the way. All the south-side thug could do was placate his husband for now, biding his time until he could get Ian home and the real fun could begin.

“Greyson really is the king slut of whore mountain huh?,” Mickey sniffed and thumbed his nose as Ian coiled his arm slyly around the brunette’s waist, pulling him toward the couple waiting for them at the bar.

“Hey, he knows what he wants and he gets it. What he wants just happens to be rich old man cock.” Ian shrugged, displeased at how much he had sobered up between the restaurant and the club. He could feel the bass of the music tightening his throat, and he wanted nothing more than to dance with his husband, bodies pressed close in the midst of a thrashing sea of young people, all high on some drug or another. Ian knew it wasn’t that easy however, and he figured that he had better ply Mickey with at least a few more drinks before the man would be willing to give up his pride and consent to dancing. “I think hanging out with couples makes him jealous. At least he’ll be getting some tonight!”

“He the only one?” Mickey purred into Ian’s ear, reaching down to squeeze his husbands ass cheek through his jeans.

Ian snickered and reached his other arm around and grabbed Mickey’s hand, pulling it up to rest on his hip bone instead. “I don’t know. Play your fuckin cards right and we’ll see.”

Mickey pouted. He knew he was going to have to play Ian’s game the rest of the night in order to get what he wanted. Ian liked to play mind games like that. Sick fuck. Mickey would never admit it out loud, but it turned him on even more to know that he had to put in work to earn Ian, even after all these years.

“Don’t pout,” Ian admonished, placing a chaste kiss on Mickey’s pursed lips. “Let’s go have fun…”

“Fine,” Mickey sneered as Ian pulled him forward. “But you better make it worth my while, Firecrotch.”

Once they reached the bar, Ian was delighted to see that Trevor and Luke had already ordered them a round of tequila shots. Perfect, Ian thought, his scheme falling neatly into place. Mickey had a particular weakness for tequila, something he had picked up during his stint in Mexico some years back. The man had drank so much of the liquor, trying to forget his fucked up life at home, that the mere smell of the shit made him gag a little. Ian was sure that there was no way in hell Mickey would back down in front of his friends, so he knew his husband was bound to get plastered.

The four men downed their shots, and Ian shook his head rapidly until the sharp taste of the tequila slowly faded down his throat. “Four more, please!” He croaked at the bartender over Mickey’s head. The bartender gave him a thumbs up, and soon brought the bottle up to the men, deftly refilling the shot glasses.

Mickey shot a withering glare at the red-head, whose shit eating grin took up the entire lower half of his face. “Fuck, Ian.” Mickey swore under his breath as he brought the shot glass up to his lips, snapping his head back to swallow the shot. He grimaced and closed his eyes as the liquid filled his system, burning all the way down. Ian was trying to kill him, he was sure. Mickey was already pretty drunk, and his vision was slightly fuzzy as he steadied himself against the bar.

Trevor was swaying. He was a small man, and unlike Mickey, who had a thick and sturdy frame despite his height, Trevor was slight and had never been able to hold his liquor very well. “‘Wanna go dance!” He announced, his voice slurring slightly.

“Yes!” Luke wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, kissing his cheek tenderly. “I gotta go take a leak first! Then we can go!” Luke pulled away from Trevor and headed off to the men’s room, stumbling a little as he walked.

“I don’t wanna wait,” Trevor whined, pitching forward to grab Ian’s arm, “let’s just go dance!”

“Okay!” Ian nodded enthusiastically, slamming this empty shot glass down on the bar for the second time. As Trevor attempted to yank Ian away, he resisted momentarily, turning to Mickey. “Are you coming?” He offered a hand to the brunette.

Mickey could feel his cheeks heating up as he looked at Trevor's fingers clutching the pale skin of his husband’s arm, fingernails digging in. He took a long minute to contemplate his options, although his mind was hazy from the alcohol. He would rather suck on a high voltage battery than dance like a faggot on the dance floor, however, he would be damned if he let Ian go out alone with an ex-boyfriend; all drunk and horned up. Finally, Mickey gritted his teeth and slapped his hand down into Ian’s open palm. “Son of a bitch, fuckin’ FINE.” He growled.

Ian bounced giddily as he lead his husband towards the wall of queers shaking and grinding on the multicolored light up floor. The DJ was bass dropping club mixes as the three men squeezed through the crowded floor. Mickey detested the feeling of the warm sweaty bodies sliding against them and chose to focus intently on Ian’s hand, his fingers like a warm beacon.

Once they had waded into the crowd far enough for Trevor’s liking, Mickey stood awkwardly for a moment as Ian and Trevor began to dance, drunk and with full abandon. He blocked Trevor out, intently watching from behind as Ian’s body gyrated under the strobing lights, putting the moves he had learned over his years of experience at strip clubs to work. The white t-shirt Ian wore was sweat slicked to his body, giving Mickey a nice view of his husband’s well defined back muscles tightening as Ian raised his arms above his head.

Ian twirled around and laughed brightly as he grabbed firmly onto both of Mickey’s hips, pulling the disgruntled man into fray. Mickey danced to make his husband happy, although his moves were certainly not a precise and smooth as Ian’s. The red head flipped around spontaneously in Mickey’s arms, unceremoniously grinding his ass into the crotch of Mickey’s jeans to the beat of the music. Mickey felt his temperature shoot up even more, the tips of his ears burning. He grabbed the back of Ian’s neck with some force, pulling the taller man so that his head was resting on Mickey’s shoulder.

“Don’t fucking do that Gallagher-“ Mickey hissed into Ian’s ear, knowing the strength of his warning was diminished by the slight tent in his jeans, which Ian could feel jutting into him. Ian’s eyes were closed, and he was too far gone to give a shit about Mickey’s protests.

“What the fuck are you going to do about it tough guy?” Ian pressed himself back on his husband a bit harder and Mickey had to clench his jaw tightly so as to not allow a low groan to escape his lips.

Mickey gathered himself and was about to respond with something quippy and smart when suddenly Trevor’s drunk ass stumbled up to them. “Sorry,” he shouted over the music, which would have drowned his voice out had he not been uncomfortably close to the couple, “some asshole pushed me!”

Mickey grunted, giving Ian’s hips a little push forward, taking some pressure off of his tightening pants. This was apparently the wrong move however, as Ian drunkenly lost his balance, slamming into Trevor, nearly taking the small man off of his feet. The pair did not miss a beat, laughing like school girls and continuing their dancing as if nothing had happened. Mickey’s blood was beyond boiling as he watched his husband and the little twink writhe and spin, bodies inches from each other, the distance rapidly closing in a way that made Mickey’s nostrils flare and his lips twitch.

Unable to take it anymore, Mickey lunged forward, shouldering his way roughly in between the two men, snaking his arms around Ian’s torso possessively. Ian threw his head back with a fit of laughter, although it didn’t last long, as Mickey’s hand worked up to the back of his husbands head, threading his fingers through the ginger strands and pulling Ian into a sloppy kiss, not caring who was watching, or what they thought.

Ian’s breath hitched and he melted into the kiss, feeling Mickey’s tongue pass roughly through his chapped lips and claim his own. Ian responded by pushing back, flicking Mickey’s tongue smoothly, not missing beat, gyrating his body against Mickey’s and causing them both to move to the music. After what seemed like an eternity, Mickey released Ian from his grip, taking a moment to latch on to his husbands bottom lip and suck as he pulled away, leaving his mark.

It was only as Mickey came down off of the euphoric, jealousy induced high, that he noticed Trevor at his elbow, leering at him. Too close for comfort.

“That was fuckin hot,” the man slurred as Ian continued to absently grind against Mickey, still caught up in the moment. Mickey’s entire body tightened as he felt Trevor’s light touch on the small of his back. Trevor continued to lean in, leaving very little space between his lips and Mickey’s ear. “We could all get out of here y’anno…” Trevor murmured suggestively, trailing his fingers up the man’s spine.

Mickey’s eyes widened rapidly, as he tried to comprehend what he was hearing, through the haze of drunkenness and flashing lights. “The fuck?” He choked, snapping his body away from Trevor’s touch, causing Ian to have to double step in order to stay upright.

Trevor looked to be about two sheets to the wind as he clumsily attempted to close the space between them once again. He spoke deliberately, “Luke and I are always looking for couples to… have some fun with.” Trevor winked, his eyes so heavy it was almost a blink.

“He told me earlier he thinks you’re hot as hell. And I know your h-husband,” Trevor gazed longingly at the read head swaying in Mickey’s arms, “is always up for a good time, so if you’d down-“

Mickey went from 0 to 60 in the matter of milliseconds, white hot rage coursing through his veins. “What the fuck- you better shut the fuck up right now shithead before I bash your face in!” Mickey roared and spun around to fully face Trevor, who’s eyes were as wide as saucers, his jaw slack with surprise.

Ian took half a second to register that Mickey was no longer wrapped around him, realizing that his husband was shouting loudly over the din of club track. He was even more shocked to see that object of his husband’s rage was Trevor, who looked more diminutive than usual with Mickey seething over him.

“Woah, Mick,” Ian reacted before he had time to think, hand shooting out to grab Mickey’s upper arm, “calm the fuck down, what’s going on?”

Mickey advanced, towering over Trevor despite his own issues with height. Ian struggled to maintain his grip on Mickey’s bicep. “This little son of a bitch is propositioning us!” The man snarled. “Want’s to get his faggoty little hands all over you!”

“Jesus Christ!” Trevor protested. “I just thought-“

“I know what you fucking thought!” Mickey’s hands snapped out, shoving Trevor hard in the chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him. “You thought you were going to get to pawn me off on your fat fuckface of a boyfriend, so you could have Ian all to yourself!” Ian tugged viciously at Mickey, trying to contain the escalating situation, but he was too sloshed to get a handle on his riled up husband. Other’s on the crowded dance floor we’re starting to take notice of the show, stopping their dancing to elbow their friends, turning in the direction of the brunette.

Trevor was a few paces away, hand on his chest, attempting to catch his breath. Mickey was blind with rage, unable to quiet the Southside gangbanger that pushed it’s way to his surface, clouding both judgement and restraint. “You think Ian ever wanted to bang a no-Dick ladyboy like you?! Nah, bitch, he was just holding out for me! Took two seconds to leave your sorry ass the minute I called him.”

“MICKEY!” Ian clawed at his husbands back and arm, unable to believe the things he was hearing. This last statement clearly pushed Trevor over the edge, as he howled and lunged forward, swinging a fist at Mickey, clearly too wasted to understand why that was the worst decision he could have made in the moment.

Mickey was suddenly sober as a rock, and dodged the punch swiftly, without much effort. Before Trevor could even register that his fist had not connected with anything. Mickey had bawled his tattooed hand up and jabbed it out with a speed that even surprised himself. The blow connect just below Trevor’s left eye, sending him reeling back, limbs flailing, into the crowd of onlookers that managed to cushion his fall somewhat.

Instantly, Mickey looked down at his offending hand, the one that was bruised and bloody from the previous encounter it had with a man’s unlucky face only hours ago. “Fuck,” he mumbled, flexing his fingers, feeling pain shoot through his wrist and forearm. His knuckles, which had been attempting to scab over and start his skins healing process, were ripped open and raw. It hit Mickey all at once how hard he had just punched Trevor, although he was not even a little sorry.

Ian was stunned, still digging his digits into Mickey’s back and arms. Mickey glanced back at him, and subsequently followed his husbands unwavering gaze, to where Trevor lay in a heap. The small man was coughing and moaning, holding his face as blood trickled like a stream from his nose and over his hands, dripping onto the light up tiles of the dance floor.

“Trevor?” Mickey heard an alarmed voice call out, one that he quickly registered as Luke’s. Both Ian and Mickey swiveled around to see that The man had observed the momentary brawl from several feet away, on his way back to join his boyfriend and their friends on the dance floor. Luke rushed up to and passed the two men, nearly shoving Mickey out of the way as he hurried to tend to his boyfriend, who was still trying to stem the flow of blood from his nostril.

Ian took the opportunity, with all spectators eyes on the new character who entered the dramatic scene, to dig his fingernails into both of Mickey’s arms, forcefully and hastily steering his husband away, causing them both to disappear silently into the crowd of bodies. Using Mickey’s body as a literal battering ram, the two men quickly made their way off of the dance floor and into the much less densely populated bar area, full of patrons who were blissfully unaware of the incident. Mickey was silent and did not utter a single protest. He was still letting the gravity of what he’d done sink in.

Taking a few long strides forward to get ahead of the brunette, Ian planted the same harsh grasp around Mickey’s wrist, dragging him wordlessly towards the exit. Upon reaching the coat check, Ian dug feverishly into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out two ticket stubs and slapping them into the hands of a waiting attendant, all the while keeping a firm and slightly painful grip on Mickey’s wrist and refusing to look at his husband.

Mickey knew he was in deep shit. He felt like a little kid all of a sudden, like when he would be sent to the principal's office every other day in primary school for one thing or the other. He felt ashamed, he realized. Not for popping Trevor in the face, no he would never be sorry for that glorious moment. He felt ashamed of embarrassing Ian. Ruining his night.

Ian threw Mickey from his grasp the moment they exited the club into the brisk morning air, wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck. Mickey watched, dumbfounded, as his husband hailed the nearest yellow cab, ratcheting open the doors and jumping inside. Mickey had to scramble in order to make it to the cab before Ian gave the go ahead. With Mickey inside, he barely had a chance to slam the door closed behind him as the cab driver peeled away from the curb.

Ian barked their street address to the driver, who could no doubt sense the thick tension in the car. The red-head crossed his arms, sinking lower into the seat. His brows were knit tightly together, forming a hood over his normally bright hazel eyes, now dark and brooding in a way that set Mickey’s teeth on edge. No one scared the thug like Ian could.

Mickey started blankly out the window, trying to look anywhere but over at his husband. He could feel the vibrations radiating off of him; Ian was physically shaking to contain his rage. Any rage Mickey felt had abruptly abandoned him when his fist had connected with Trevor’s face.

The clock on the cab’s dashboard read 2:24 am. Mickey bit down hard on his bottom lip as the alcohol that had been coursing through his system slowly began to wane, leaving behind a pounding headache and the throbbing of his bloody knuckles. Mickey turned to Ian and opened his mouth to say something, but quickly snapped it shut again after the words swirling around him his skull escaped him. They sat in painful silence for the rest of the ride.

Ian stomped up the steps of the walk up to the third floor, fumbling with his keys before inserting them in the lock. He twisted the door handle and flung the door open so forcefully that the handle made a dent in the wall on the other side, the window blinds trembling from the impact. Ian didn’t give a fuck. It was all Mickey could do to toss some bills into the cabby’s lap and hightail it after his husband, taking the steep steps two at a time.

The door had been left open, Ian not bothering to close it as he knew his husband would be skulking in behind him. The red head turned the corner into the their kitchen and made a b-line for the large, half empty bottle of scotch from the window ledge above the sink. Plucking a semi clean glass from the dish rack, Ian poured the amber liquid in until it more than wet the bottom.

Mickey heard the clinking of glass as he kicked his shoes off onto the pile that had accumulated on the mat by the door over the last six months since they had moved in. “Goddammit,” Mickey hissed to himself, finally deciding to break his silence. He slammed the door with all his might, the resulting noise vibrating the entire apartment, eliciting a brief cessation of tinkling glass in the kitchen. Ian started up again moments later, slamming around aimlessly.

“Ian!” Mickey shouted, taking purposeful strides towards the kitchen. Mickey rounded the corner in time to see Ian downing what looked to be about 2 or 3 ounces of Scotch. “Ian… put that the fuck down and talk to me.” Mickey commanded. Ian shot the man a withering glance before turning back to the bottle, readying himself to pour yet more booze into his empty glass. Mickey felt his temper flare yet again, as he crossed the kitchen floor in a blur, snatching the glass and bottle away from the taller man, slamming them both loudly into the sink.

“FUCK YOU MICK!” Ian exploded, his husband's actions pushing him over the top. Ian whirled around rapidly and shoved two large hands into Mickey’s broad chest with all his might, causing the brunette to land flat on his ass halfway across the kitchen. “Who the hell do you think you are? Huh? Treating my friends like shit? Why the FUCK did you hit Trevor?!” The man had murder in eyes as he towered over his fallen husband.

Mickey was instantly on his feet and up in Ian’s face, snarling and pushing the man back into the kitchen counter with all his body weight, the collision knocking several plastic cups and bowls off of a shelf above the two men. “Why did I- That horny fairy wanted to get in your pants you dense motherfucker!” Ian’s hands shot up to his head, running his fingers through his thick ginger strands in an exasperated manner, harshly laughing at Mickey’s words. “Jesus Mick- he was drunk off his ass! He didn’t mean anything-“

“Oh bullshit Gallagher, that little rat knew exactly what he was doing!” Mickey could feel the air crackle between them. They always fought just as passionately and violently as they loved. Even through all of the screaming and the anger, Mickey wanted nothing more than to remove the space between them and put all that passion to use.

Ian’s face was nearly as red as his hair, and although Mickey did not know it, he was resisting the same urges that popped up in his own mind. “Regardless, Mick, you didn’t have to fucking punch the poor guy! And say all of those TRANSPHOBIC things about him!”

Mickey winced. If there was one thing he could have taken back about the exchange, it was those ugly words he spoke to the man. Clocking some queer in the face was one thing, but Mickey disliked the part of himself that regressed when he was angry, back to the days before he had accepted himself and slowly learned to accept others. The brunette pulled himself out of his own mind when he realized Ian was still talking, more softly this time. His drunkenness and the intensity of his outburst had worn him out.

“Listen,” he grasped Mickey’s chin tightly in between his fingers, “you have got to learn how to be angry without resorting to knocking people’s lights out whenever they do something you don’t like!” Ian reached down for his husband's damaged hand, holding it up in front of them both. The dull light of their kitchen illuminated the glossy, half dried blood covering the knuckles, looking like one big open wound.

Mickey removed himself from Ian’s touch in order to respond, unable to focus on words when his husband was so close, hot breath cascading over his face. “Well, now you just wanna reprogram my Milkovich noggin entirely,” he sneered, but there was no venom in the words. “Look Ian, I’m fuckin sorry I ruined the night okay. I’m sorry I embarrassed you. But I’m NOT sorry I hit that prick. I’m surprised I haven’t done it before, with the way he can’t keep his grimy mitts off of you!”

Ian let out a breathy laugh at this, pulling his husband in closely again, leaning back into the counter. Mickey let him this time, until the full weight of his chest rested on Ian’s.

“Jesus Christ Mickey, what am I gonna have to do to convince you that I’m all yours?” the red head relished the way he felt Mickey’s heart beat speed up as he placed a gentle kiss on the man’s forehead. “I mean I chased you for years,” he emphasized this with a kiss to the tip of the thugs nose, “we’ve gone to prison together, beat the shit out of one another,” Ian kissed the left cheek, then hovered over the right, “I proposed to you,” his lips pressed down on the man’s right cheek before moving them to rest half an inch away from Mickey’s own, “I fucking married you Mick. What more do you want from me?”

Mickey’s breathing was irregular and ragged, and he closed the space between them in order to answer Ian’s question. The kiss was deep, needy and vulnerable, in a way Mickey could only be with his husband. Ian had been a safe space for him since they were 15 years old, and for a better part of a decade this space had been his home. Mickey’s hands crawled up Ian’s chest, and wrapped around the back of his neck, securing both men in place.

They stayed this way for what felt like ages, until Ian broke away, despite murmuring protests from Mickey. He grabbed his husband by both shoulders, swiveling his body around. “Go take care of your hand. Wash it up and put a bandage on it.” Ian ordered, in a low voice. “When you’re done, go take everything off and get in bed. I’ll be in soon to give you your punishment.”

Ian preened at the way Mickey’s back muscles tensed when he spoke the word.

Mickey nodded, resigning himself to his fate. “Yes, sir…” He mumbled knowing that the response would drive Ian mad with desire. Without looking back he took off to the bathroom, trying to take slow purposeful steps in order to not give away how excited Ian had made him.

Ian gazed longingly at Mickey as he watched the brunette saunter off. When Mickey had finally disappeared around the corner he let out a loud sigh and rubbed his eyes, the tension of the night escaping him like air escaping a flat tire. Anger at Mickey still lurked below the surface of Ian’s emotions, but was quickly being replaced with lust, although Ian tried not to forget why he was angry in the first place.

That was the thing about Ian and Mickey. No matter how hard they fought, they fucked just as hard, and sex had proved over the years to be a great therapist. By any normal couples standards this was an unhealthy move, but Ian knew just as well as the next guy that he and his husband had never had a normal relationship. They were too fucked up for normalcy, regardless of how well they could feign it in front of others.

Whatever, Ian dismisses this train of thought, deciding instead to focus on the delicious revenge he would get once Mickey had cleaned himself up. He heard the water running in the bathroom and the creaking of cabinet doors. Ian did not move from his spot until the water was turned off, and he perceived the faint sounds of Mickey padding across the hall towards their bedroom.

Ian waited only a few, suspenseful moments more before pushing off of the counter and heading in to join his husband, head swimming with fantasy that was shortly to turn into reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the spicy bits... because next chapter is pure smut with maybeeee a drop of plot ;)


	3. If You Act Like An Animal...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey lets go while Ian gives him his punishment, and the boys have a heart to heart (AKA: Ian gets carried away with the toys, and Mickey is not complaining)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you don't like daddy!kink, power-play, mild BDSM, dom-sub dynamics, or the use of copious amounts of toys then this is not the chapter for you my friend!  
> I'm a fan of Ian and Mickey engaging a daddy!kink and because I think Mickey would only be comfortable letting Ian have such outright control and authority over him in the bedroom. I don't think they would exclusively engage in this kink every time, but for scenarios like this, I think it's therapeutic for both of them!  
> (Also: they use the 'stoplight' system instead of a safe word!)  
> (Also ALSO: after-careeeee... *faints*)
> 
> OKAY HAVE FUN

Chapter Three: Fuck

Mickey wasted no time cleaning up his fist with a wet washcloth before discarding the bloody thing in the clothing hamper. It was painful, but he hardly noticed, his mind too occupied with what Ian had in store for him. Opening the medicine cabinet with a creek, the thug clumsily grabbed at the roll of medical bandages and peroxide Ian kept stored beside his body wash and cologne, for just such an occasion.

Haphazardly, he poured the peroxide on the wound, hissing and swearing as the liquid doused the cuts, leeching deeply into his skin. As the stinging died down, he wrapped the white gauzy bandage smoothly around his knuckles, making a tight fist before using a small piece of medical tape to hold it in place. Once he was satisfied with his work, he threw the bandages and peroxide back into the cabinet before closing it up, taking a moment to look at his face in the mirror.

He ran his un-injured hand over his cheek and chin, feeling the rough stubble distributed sparsely around the area. Mickey’s reflection stared drunkenly back at him, and the man wondered for the millionth time what Ian Gallagher ever saw in him. He had been told his whole life that he was just a piece of shit Milkovich, a nobody. Yet this red headed dreamboat had somehow managed to get past his defences, and worm his way into the inner sanctum. Mickey was discovering bit by bit, year by year, the person he could have been without all the trauma of his childhood heaped upon his back. Ian seemed to strip all of the bullshit away, and within the confines of their shitty little Southside apartment, he could let go. Be himself.

Mickey shook his head and broke away from the mirror. _Enough pussy shit_ , he chastised himself, undoing his belt buckle and pulling it through all of the loops in one motion. It was show time.

Quickly, the man undressed, leaving his clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor. _That’s a tomorrow problem_ , he thought as he exited the bathroom, wearing only a pair of briefs and the bandage. Crossing the hallway into the bedroom, he could still hear Ian’s movements in the kitchen.

Mickey hastened his steps into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. The room was dark, so he reached over to flick on the small lamp on the bedside table. The bulb was not very bright, but it allowed him to see the contents of the room just fine. Mickey’s eyes scanned over his surroundings, relatively clean and familiar. He saw signs of his husband all around the room, the work papers piled up on the desk by the window, and the shirts hanging from the closet door handle where Ian often left them instead of hanging them up after washing them. Medication bottles both empty and full were strewn on the nightstand beside them, along with Ian’s reading glasses, which he had been using more and more as of late. The book the red-head was halfway through laid beside them, ratty and dog-eared all to hell.

It hit Mickey all at once what a drunk idiot he had been that night. How could he let Trevor get to him like that? After all, it was Ian who was coming home with him, sleeping in his bed, living in his life. Trevor was old news. Yet, he had let his jealousy overcome him, and he’s made an utter fool of himself. No wonder Ian was insulted; Mickey was a blind man if he couldn’t see where his husband’s loyalties lay. Mickey was hardly one to self reflect like that, but he had a feeling that in order to make amends with Ian, he would have to make amends with Trevor. The concept of apologizing- even disingenuously- to Ian’s ex-boyfriend, like a goddamn puppy with his tail between his legs, made bile rise in Mickey’s throat.

Before he could dwell on the thought any longer, Mickey felt Ian’s presence in the doorframe, and turned to see Ian standing there, shirtless and sporting a hard-on that threatened to rip straight through his jeans. MIckey stared at the bulge hungrily, feeling his own cock twitch with desire. “Jesus Ian…” he murmured, linking his lips and meeting the red-head’s mischievous gaze. “I’m surprised you even made it in here with all the blood drained from your head into your-“

Ian raised a hand, effectively silencing the brunette and causing him to realize that his husband was already deep in ‘dom’-mode, no doubt spurned on by the frustration he was feeling towards MIckey’s actions. “Did I fuckin’ tell you to speak?” He growled in a low commanding voice, never breaking eye contact with his prey. Mickey felt a shiver up his spine, and his cock was half hard just at the sounds of Ian’s voice.

“No sir,” he breathed.

“That’s what I thought,” Ian spat sternly, stepping into the room and heading immediately for their closet. He opened the door and reached up to pull a box from the top shelf, a box Mickey knew was filled to the brim with the toys they had accumulated over the years. “You’ve been a very bad boy tonight, Mick,” Ian tisked, his back to his husband. “You acted like an animal.”

Ian placed the box carefully onto the floor, rummaging through it for a moment before pulling something out, and shaking it in front of his lover’s face. Mickey’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the black leather collar swinging from Ian’s fingertips. “If you act like an animal…” Ian paused, expectantly waiting for his sentence to be finished.

“...You get treated like an animal.” Mickey whispered huskily, straining against the tightening in his briefs.

“That’s right,” Ian nodded, trying and failing to avoid smirking at his husband, normally so in control, looking like the submissive bottom he was on the inside. “Now come here. On your hands and knees at the end of the bed.” Ian instructed, pointing to the spot he was referring too.

Mickey did not need to be told twice. Pushing away from the headboard, Mickey crawled to the end of the bed, eyes trained on the man before him. The way Mickey looked at him, perched on the edge of the bed, made Ian even harder, and the red-head grunted as his pants became increasingly uncomfortable. He couldn’t wait to get out of the denim prison. But he had to be patient. He couldn’t let Mickey have that satisfaction just yet.

Ian approached Mickey slowly, unhooking the collar and reaching down to fasten in it around the man’s neck. Mickey couldn’t contain the whimper that escaped his lips as he felt the collar snap in place, restricting his airflow ever so slightly.

“Color?” Ian whispered, his face inches from Mickey. They had taken to using the color system so as to not disrupt the mood.

“Green,” Mickey’s breath came heavily and answered without hesitation. It delighted Ian to know that Mickey loved the collar. He wrapped his fingers around the collar, yanking slightly, eliciting a short gasp from the brunette.

“Very good, Mick,” Ian purred. “Now, are you going to be a good boy and suck Daddy’s cock?”

Mickey was fully erect now, clenching his teeth in order to keep him from lowering his hips to rock them against the bed. He was aching to be touched, to feel some friction. Mickey nodded rapidly in response to Ian’s question.

Suddenly Ian’s hand was in Mickey’s hair, clenching tightly around the short strands and pulling Mickey’s head upward, forcing him to look Ian in the eyes.

“Out loud.” He commanded.

“Yes Daddy,” the words fell easily from Mickey’s mouth. When Ian had first requested that Mickey comply with the kink, it had felt a little odd to refer to Ian in that way. He quickly grew to love it, appreciating the power it gave Ian.

“Yes, what?” Ian prodded him further.

“Yes Daddy, I’m going to be good and suck your fucking cock!” Mickey exclaimed, a little bit of his ornery personality slipping into the sentence. He was sure he would be chastised for the outburst, but when he glanced up at Ian the ginger was grinning. “I love the enthusiasm. Now get to work.” Ian pushed his hips forward, nearly burying Mickey’s face into his groin.

Mickey took a brief moment to teasingly nuzzle Ian’s bulge through the jeans, taking in the erotic textures and smells, eliciting a groaned and a pat on the head from Ian. He lifted up his unbandaged hand and fumbled with Ian’s jeans for a few seconds before sliding them down the man’s hips, along with his boxers in one fell swoop. Ian’s hard member freed itself from the fabric, bouncing slightly with the force Mickey had applied to tearing the clothing away from it.

With one hand still knotted in his husbands hair, Ian took hold of his cock, pumping it several times before slapping it gently against Mickey’s cheek and mouth. Mickey’s tongue darted out, brushing the shaft, and Ian shivered at the contact, letting go of the member and allowing Mickey to do what he did best.

The brunette placed his puffy lips around Ian’s cock, allowing saliva to gather in his open mouth, that he then used it to slowly swallow Ian in, inch by inch, working his tongue along the hot flesh as he went. Mickey began to bob his head, coating the length of Ian’s dick in his spit, pausing for a few painful seconds at the head each time before swallowing him down once more.

“Shit Mick,” he heard his lover breath from above, becoming acutely aware that the hand in his hair became tighter and tighter as the minutes passed. Mickey cast his gaze upward, delighted to see that Ian’s eyes were screwed together in pleasure. “Just like that, so fucking good baby…” Ian murmured mindlessly.

Time to turn it up a notch. Mickey sheathed Ian’s length in his mouth, leaving only about an inch or so of his cock untouched. He hummed at the back of his throat, the vibrations reverberating throughout his mouth, knowing this would drive Ian up the wall. It did.

Ian hips arched forward in ecstasy, and Mickey lost all control of the situation from that point forward. Ian grasped the thug’s collar roughly on either side of his neck and began to fuck Mickey’s face with wild abandon, hips thrusting his cock in and out of Mickey’s open mouth.

Mickey gagged each time Ian pushed himself all the way in to his mouth, allowing him to breath for a millisecond before choking him again. No one outside of this room would ever know it, but Mickey loved being used like his husbands personal fuck toy. It gave him infinite amount of pleasure to let Ian dominate him, mind body and soul. On the streets, Mickey would never be challenged, never give up power the way he would in this space Ian created for him. And even as tears of effort fell unbidden from his eyes and saliva leaked out of his mouth at Ian’s frantic thrusting, Mickey was struck suddenly of the importance of his relationship with the man. Why it worked against all odds.

“Fuck,” Ian gasped and pulled his cock all the way out of his lovers mouth. Mickey could finally breathe again and took deep gasping breaths, “can’t keep doing that. Gonna cum.” Ian panted. Mickey grinned naughtily, using the back of his arm to wipe the drool cascading down his chin.

Ian whipped his hand out, roughly grabbing Mickey by the chin and forcing his head still. “You enjoy being choked by Daddy’s big cock, huh?”

“Yes Daddy,” Mickey complied with the rules this time so as not to be punished, dragging out the agonizing process even longer. He then added, for good measure, “I love your cock so much.” Mickey was rewarded with a low groan from the redhead, who ran his thumb affectionately over Mickey’s lips.

Reluctantly, Ian took a few steps back from Mickey and knelt to pull a few more items out of the box of sex toys. Mickey watched Ian’s cock, which now looked painfully aroused. He wanted nothing more than to relieve Ian’s suffering by having the entire thing buried up to the hilt in his ass. The thought made Mickey’s own cock throb, and he let out a hiss at the sheer amount of pressure between his legs. He knew it wasn’t going to happen for a little while longer and he resigned himself to the fun Ian had in store for him.

With a coy smile, Ian approached Mickey again, hands behind his back. “Pick a hand,” he snickered. Mickey resisted the urge to snap at Ian for torturing him, remembering who the boss was, in the bedroom at least.

“Left,” Mickey grunted.

“Good choice,” Ian winked, revealing his left hand to the brunette. A pair of black leather handcuffs to match Mickey’s collar hung from Ian’s clenched fist. “To complete the set.” Mickey breathed deeply through his nose and bit his bottom lip excitedly, the sight driving the redhead wild. “Pick again.”

“Fuckin, really Ian,” Mickey mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?” Ian asked sternly, slipping back into dom-mode with ease.

Mickey stifled himself instantly. “Right,” he picked the only available option. Ian’s face broke out into a sadistic grin again, and slowly removed his hand from behind his back, letting Mickey catch sight of the blue buttplug laying in his open palm. The brunette gasped audibly. The toy definitely wasn’t the biggest that the couple owned- not by a long shot. And yet it was Mickey's absolute favourite. Devilishly, Ian pressed the button on the bottom of the toy, and the buttplug began vibrating violently in Ian’s hand. He let it go on for a moment, teasing his submissive, before pressing the button once again.

“Color?” Ian raised an eyebrow.

“Green and green,” Mickey responded playfully.

“That’s my boy,” Ian praised, and watched Mickey’s face turn a shade redder in the dim light of the lamp. “Now get on your back and take your panties off for me.”

Mickey complied with a whimper, scooting himself back to the middle of the bed and laying down down, his head resting on the pillow. After shimmying his briefs down past his milky thighs and kicking them off of his ankle, he relaxed himself, letting his arms flop above his head, readying his body for the next phase of his punishment.

Ian followed him onto the bed, crawling until he was leaning over Mickey. He placed the buttplug beside the man and bent down further, allowing his cock briefly brush against Mickey’s hard member, drawing a moan from them both. Ian forced himself to focus, taking each strap of the leather cuffs in both hands and methodically securing one of his husbands wrists and then the other. Mickey made sure to stay still until Ian finished his work, and when Ian gave the go ahead, he struggled slightly against the restraints just to make absolutely sure he was stuck.

Ian couldn’t help but to smile at Mickey’s movements, and he bowed his head to kiss the boy tenderly, before reaching into their bedside table for the bottle of lube. Placing a small drop of lube onto his middle and index fingers, Ian spread the substance with his thumb before moving his hand down towards Mickey’s ass. The red head drew a soft line with his lube coated fingers, from the base of Mickey’s balls, down the middle of his perineum and finally came to rest right over his tight hole, swirling his fingers in a circular motion over the entrance.

Mickey bared down into the bed, screwing his eyes shut in order to stop his hips from bucking at the overwhelming sensation of being touched. He knew if he acted out in this way, Ian would stop in his tracks, and repeat the whole process again, extending the unbearable torture a few moments longer. As if reading his mind, Ian waited to see if he could pull more of a reaction from the brunette, and when he was unsuccessful, he knew Mickey was ready.

“You ready, Mick?” Ian growled.

“Mmhm,” Mickey nodded, eyes still closed. Ian chuckled smugly, and pressed his fingers into his husband, working against the slight resistance until Mickey’s hole had fully accepted his slick digits. Mickey threw his head back and let out a loud cry, as Ian drew his fingers almost all of the way out, before plunging them in and out of the man.

The brunette spasmed beneath him as Ian continued to thrust, his long slender fingers hitting the sweet spot that made Mickey’s moans grow louder and desperate. Ian took advantage of his husbands restraints and prone position, nipping at the man’s chest, abdomen, and hip bones. He was careful to avoid the most sensitive areas, such as Mickey’s nipples and of course his throbbing hard-on, which was leaking obscene amounts of precum.

“H-holy hell,” Mickey exclaimed shakily, his blue eyes shooting wide open as Ian introduced a third finger. The weight of the leather enclosed around his neck and his arms chained together above his head made the whole situation so much more erotic. Being his husbands plaything was and always had been a transcendent experience.

When Ian’s lips had reached the deep v of the man’s pelvis, he swiftly removed his fingers from Mickey, who let out a whine in protest. Ian didn’t pay this any attention, instead spreading Mickey’s legs wide open for him. He stopped to place a few love bites onto Mickey’s muscular inner thighs before moving his head down further, cascading his hot breath over Mickey’s perineum, until he was able to dip his tongue over Mickey’s hole.

“Ahh!” Mickey couldn’t take his eyes off of his husbands head between his legs, teasing his hole with the tip of his tongue. “Please…”

“Please what?” Ian made deliberate eye contact with the brunette as he swiped his tongue over Mickey’s entrance again.

Mickey groaned. “P-please fucking put the toy inside me Daddy… I need it in me.” He voiced his desires with a noticeable shake to his voice.

“Hmmm,” Ian pretended to consider, driving Mickey a little more insane each time he passed his rigid tongue over the man’s hole. “I guess you’ve earned it. Being so good for me, obeying my orders like a perfect little fucktoy.” Ian reached for the buttplug, and Mickey squirmed as he applied lube to the toy quickly before lining the tip up to his aching hole.

Without further discussion, Ian inserted the toy into his husband, and Mickey’s vocalizations of lust filled the room as the man could no longer contain himself. When the toy was lodged all the way in, Ian pressed the button and the toy came to life inside of Mickey, pressing and vibrating against his prostate, making him writhe and like a man possessed.

Ian sat back on his heals momentarily, jerking his cock with one hand, admiring his handy work. Nothing brought him more pleasure than to see his shit talking thug of a husband so vulnerable, splayed our beneath him. It almost made Ian forget why he had been so unbelievably cross with him earlier. Almost.

Something was missing. Ian watched Mickey writhe, and the thought suddenly struck the man. He knew just what it was. Ian crawled slowly off of the bed, dick in hand, and made his way back over to box of toys. There it was. The missing piece. Mickey managed to lift his head up my some miracle, curious as to what his husband was doing. Almost instantly, he felt the sweet pressure and vibration of the buttplug brush against his g-spot once again, sending his head forcefully back onto the pillow. His body spasmed and his eyes rolled back in his head as he released an exceptionally loud moan from between clenched jaws.

Before he knew it Ian was mounting the bed again, and Mickey managed to crack one eye open to see the redhead’s sadistic grin. He held a pair of plastic nipple clamps in his hand, twisting the chain that connected them between his fingers. Mickey’s hips bucked once more as a wave of pleasure courses through him. “Shit,” he hissed hoarsely under weight of his collar, “Green.” An answer for a question Ian didn’t even have time to ask.

Ian bit his bottom lip. It was so unbelievably sexy to see Mickey so eager and ready for the punishment he was receiving. Ian had no doubt that Mickey was trying desperately to make it up to him for what had transpired at the club. But more than that, Ian knew, his husband genuinely loved being subjected to the torture.

“As you wish,” Ian responded breathily, sliding closer to the brunette, ‘accidentally’ brushing the tip of Mickey’s twitching precum covered cock with his arm as he reached up over the man’s body, until he came to the desired area. Using his thumb, Ian carefully rubbed around Mickey’s left areola, rolling the nipple between his fingers, before unceremoniously attaching the clamp. Mickey gasped audibly, and his mouth remained in the perfect o shape as Ian repeated the process with his right nipple.

Ian was more than satisfied to hear the chain jingling, as Mickey’s entire body shook from the sensations he was experiencing. Mickey couldn’t believe how amazing every inch of him felt. Only one thing could make the situation even more of a dream for him, and because Ian truly was capable of reading his husbands mind after all of these years together, he knew exactly what Mickey was craving.

“Do you want me to make feel good, Mick?” Ian murmured, slithering down the man’s body until his mouth hovered over the man’s throbbing member.

“Please daddy,” Mickey whined, unable to contain his body jittering, feeling Ian’s hot breath cascade over his cock. Ian loved the sound of the thug begging.

Without another word, Ian took the head of Mickey’s cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip, savouring the salty precum. Mickey let out an animalistic sound as Ian opened up his throat, swallowing the length of him down in one flawless movement. Mickey bucked his hips upward wildly, eyes rolling all the way back into his head, enter full sensory overload.

The symphony of sensations being inflicted upon him were pure and beautiful torture. The man was vividly, painfully aware of every inch of his body; the collar and handcuffs choked and restrained him, the clamps tightened on his nipples every time his body spasmed, activating some of his most sensitive pressure points. The buttplug jammed against his prostate every time he twitched a muscle, and all of this in combination with Ian’s head bobbing up and down, expertly sucking him off, was pushing Mickey to his absolute limit.

“Nghhhh… fuck, Ian!” Mickey exclaimed, barely able to form coherent words. Ian’s head snapped up, and his mouth detached from Mickey’s cock with a popping sound.

“What is it baby?” Ian asked earnestly, although he knew what Mickey was trying to hint at. He also knew that if Mickey had not been so strung out with pleasure he would have called Ian a bitch for using such a pet name for him. As it was he hardly noticed.

“Can.. can you t-turn… uhhh offff-“ Mickey was physically struggling to get the words to come out. Ian was one step ahead of him though, knowing exactly what he was trying to get at.

“Is it too much Mick?” Ian cooed, “you want me to turn off your toy?”

“Mmmmhm,” Mickey grit his teeth, “pleasseeeee…”

“I can do you one better,” Ian conceded, and Mickey nearly lost consciousness as the man took hold of the still vibrating toy and pulled it quickly out of his husbands ass. Mickey took a few panting breaths to steady himself, sweat rolling down his forehead, and abdomen, simultaneously relieved that the intensity had been taken down a notch and dejected by the sudden emptiness he felt.

“T-Thanks,” he managed to say between pants, “Felt fucking amazing but… I was getting too close.”

Ian beamed, “Good boy Mickey,” he praised, tossing the toy down to the end of the bed and hunching over to place an open mouthed kiss on Mickey’s hungry lips, swollen from being bitten in the throes of ecstasy. Once he pulled away, the red head continued to flatter him, “I have you trained so damn well. You know you have to wait for me to rearrange your pretty little insides before you’re allowed to cum.”

“Speaking of…” Some semblance of stability has returned to Mickey’s voice, “The buttplug was great, but I’d like your cock inside me now. Fuck me until I can’t walk straight, please?”

Ian was struck by how matter of factly Mickey’s request was. There was a time long enough ago when Mickey hated being so explicit, preferring not to dwell on what was about to happen, and just let it happen. This was the man who struggled to ask Ian for a blowjob back when they first started fooling around. This simple exhibition of his husband’s growth both shocked and delighted Ian so much, that he had to remind himself who exactly the dom was supposed to be. Not Mickey, that’s for sure.

Without thinking, Ian quickly snatched the chain that connected the nipple clamps together from where it rested on his husband’s chest, causing Mickey to yelp as the clamps suddenly pulled against his nipples. “You think you’ve earned that?” Ian hissed, forcing himself to ignore how much he wanted to simply comply with Mickey’s wishes and pound his husband’s ass into the mattress, “I dunno Mick- you were pretty fucking bad tonight… and bad boys don’t get have Daddy’s cock inside them.”

Mickey was squirming and pouting beneath Ian like the bratty little slut he became when no one else was around. “But I’ve been being so fuckin good for you this whole time Daddy…” Mickey’s light blue eyes penetrated Ian’s soul, and Ian found himself idly playing with his cock as he admired how pretty and willing Mickey looked.

“I guess you have been,” Ian shrugged, loving how Mickey’s gaze shifted between looking into his eyes and hungrily watching Ian stroke his own cock, “and I really do want to be inside you right now- that Buttplug got you all nice and stretched out for the real deal” Ian licked his lips at the thought, finally making up his mind to end this phase of the punishment in favour for the main course.

Ian stopped playing with himself for long enough to position himself properly between Mickey’s legs and leaned over his husband, grazing their cocks together, making them both moan.

“If you want me, you have to pick one thing to remove,” Ian instructed, flicking Mickey’s left nipple clamp, not so subtly indicating what he meant. Mickey breathed in sharply.

“The clamps,” Mickey groaned, willing to forgo them if it meant keeping the delicious pressure of the collar, and his restraints.

“That’s what I thought,” Ian chuckled, carefully placing kisses on Mickey’s stomach as he reached up with both hands, freeing Mickey’s nipples from the clamps and revelling in the way he felt his lover’s abs tighten at the loss of the pleasure.

Upon tossing the clamps down beside the previously discarded buttplug, Ian felt around in the comforter, finally discovering the bottle of lube. Snapping the cap open, Ian places another dollop of the liquid onto his hand and began stroking his cock again, preparing himself.

Mickey waited, miraculously patient given the circumstances. He knew if he tried to hurry his husband, Ian would find yet another way to drag out the punishment. It would be torture for them both but Ian had an amazingly strong will and could outlast Mickey on the stubbornness front eleven out of ten times. Mickey’s train of thought was interrupted the sudden sensation of tip of Ian’s cock pressing gingerly against his entrance. Mickey yelped. Ian had riled him up so much that everything was overly sensitive.

Ian lifted his hips up slightly, using one hand to guide his cock, keeping it trained on the bullseye. “Color?” The redhead whispered, so low that Mickey barely heard him over the rush of blood in his ears.

“Green, daddy please fu-“ Mickey didn’t get to finish whining before Ian roughly grasped his hips with strong purposeful hands and thrusted his well oiled cock into Mickey, sheathing himself in his husbands tight hole, bottoming out instantly. Ian could not avoid the strangled moan that escaped him at that moment, unable to disguise the how intensely gratified he felt being inside his husband.

“FUCK,” Mickey screamed. The buttplug had not adequately prepared him for the intense satisfaction and slight burn of pain he felt in those initial moments. It never did. Mickey felt like a goddamn virgin every single time. Ian hung his head low and took a few deep breaths before he began to move, simultaneously thrusting into Mickey While clutching his hips. Digging his short nails into the soft flesh and yanking the man’s ass down onto his cock, Ian’s hips pounded loudly and harshly against Mickey’s ass.

Both men let out obscene noises, and Ian was punishing with the pace of his thrusts, beating against Mickey’s prostate in a way that made Mickey struggle wildly against his restraints, desperately wanting to touch himself, to relieve the immense pressure in his own cock.

“God, Mick! How...” Ian huffed, as Mickey frantically wrapped his legs around his husbands back, locking his ankles and wiggling himself onto Ian’s cock with every gyration of his hips, “...the fuck are so still so tight?” Mickey let out an unintelligible string of noises; any chance of a legitimate response had been fucked out of the man the second Ian had pushed inside of him.

A fine sheen of sweat coated Mickey’s smooth skin and every muscle in his body ached as Ian mercilessly pounded into him, repeatedly hitting his sweet spot over and over. “Fuck- yes- don’t- stop- right- there!” Mickey let the words spill out of his open mouth one by one, accenting each of the redhead’s deep thrusts.

Ian was all at once overwhelmed by the beautiful sight of his husband, and he allowed the top half of his body to fall, pressing his hands down into the pillows, on either side of Mickey’s head. Ian curled his body, continuing to fuck Mickey madly as he captured the man’s trembling lips in his. Mickey craned his neck up, giving himself over to his husbands kiss, deep, passionate, and intoxicating.

The brunette moaned lustily into Ian’s mouth as Ian ground his hips inward, pressing hard against The man’s prostrate and holding his cock in the position for so long, Mickey almost came right then and there. Mickey managed, by some miracle, to refrain. His nails dug into the palms of his own hands viciously, threatening to tear skin as he succeeded in pulling himself from the cliffs edge.

When Ian broke his lips away from the kiss, he wormed his hands down the covers, to the spot just above Mickey’s waist, wiggling his strong fingers under his husband until he had a tight hold. “Put your arms around my neck.” Ian whispered the instruction.

Mickey quickly did as he was told, lifting his arms in unison, which felt nearly atrophied from under-use, and looped his cuffed wrists over his lover’s head and around his neck. In a single fluid movement that spoke volumes of Ian’s physical strength, the red-head hauled Mickey’s body upward, lifting him off of the bed. Ian shifted his legs out under Mickey’s backside, crooking his knees slightly, somehow making sure not to disconnect their bodies in the process. Mickey held onto Ian for dear life, bracing his forearms against his husbands back, his brain trying and failing to comprehend what was happening.

Both men cried out in exquisite euphoria as Mickey was impaled on Ian’s cock, thanks to gravity, until he was fully seated upon the red-head’s throbbing member. Once both has caught their breath sufficiently, Ian began fucking up into his husband with every ounce of force he had in him. Mickey reciprocated they movement with equal vigour, bouncing and rolling his hips, burying his face into the crook of Ian’s neck, whining and whimpering into his husband’s ear as he became entirely undone in Ian’s arms.

Ian was sure his fingers were pressed so roughly into the flesh of Mickey’s back that it would leave red welts for days.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Mickey hummed loudly, Ian’s cock filling up his hole spectacularly, this position allowing him to hit Mickey’s prostate at just the perfect angle. This, combined with the glorious sensation of Mickey’s cock ever so slightly sliding against Ian’s slick abs, and the clinking of the chain of his cuffs, made Mickey more and more sure of his impending orgasm.

“Ian…” Mickey pulled his head back and looked into his husbands beautiful eyes, “I’m s-so goddamn c-close!”

Landing a few particularly vicious thrusts, Ian pulled Mickey back into his embrace, tilting his head to place a few bites on the exposed skin under Mickey’s jaw, just above where the leather collar sunk into Mickey’s neck. “You’ll cum when I say you can,” Ian growled.

With that statement hanging between them, Ian pushed off of Mickey’s study chest, landing on his back with a soft thud, pulling the man down on top of him. Mickey seized the opportunity to unhook his arms from around Ian’s neck and push himself up so that he was once again seated. Mickey threw his head back, silent despite his gaping mouth, unable to push even a strangled sound out of his lungs. He began riding Ian into the mattress, and Ian could not hope to keep up with the wild and frenzied bucking of his husbands hips.

Ian felt his own climax barreling towards him, as every cell in his body ached for release. Mickey was bouncing and grinding with wild abandon, fucking himself on Ian’s cock. “Ah! Mick!” Ian clenched his fingers around Mickey’s waist, feeling his husbands muscles expanding and contracting rapidly. “Do you want to cum?”

A foolish question by any standards, but Mickey played the role of submissive slut perfectly. “Please…. oh fuck… please let me cum daddy!” Mickey yelped, fingers clawing and grasping at Ian chest hair.

“Cum for me then baby,” Ian commanded. Sliding his hands down to Mickey’s hips, Ian let out an inhumane grunt and slammed the man down onto him, burying all 9inches deeply into Mickey.

Clamping his eyes shut, Mickey literally saw stars. The sound that he made was loud and exquisite, a verbal proclamation of the orgasm that rocked his body and world. His back arched and his muscles screamed and thick ropes of cum shot out onto his husbands stomach and chest.

The divine sensation of Mickey’s hole contracting around his member sent Ian head long into his own orgasm. He had meant to hold off for at least one moment more, but that thought was dashed to pieces when he felt Mickey’s insides tighten, milking the cum out of him involuntarily. Mindlessly, Ian pressed down harder on Mickey’s hips, as if he hadn’t already bottomed out moments ago.

Both men tried to move as little as possible, riding out their orgasms, savouring the intensity of the experience. Ian waited until he felt Mickey’s body fully and completely relax, before popping the clasp on the leather cuffs, releasing his husband from the restraints. Once they were tossed, Ian tried to catch his breath. 

“Fucking… Hell, Mick,” Ian spit, lifting Mickey’s body up just a tad to slip his softening cock out of Mickey slowly with a wince. He felt a good portion of the load he had just dumped into his husband’s hole leak back onto him, pooling under Mickey’s ass.

Although no longer being restrained, Mickey literally could not lift a muscle. It was all he could do to droop his neck down slightly, low enough for Ian to reach his long fingers up and unclip the collar around his throat, pulling it off and chucking it to the side with all the other toys. “My bones are like fuckin jello man,” Mickey groaned.

Ian was busy reaching for the leftover napkins he kept on the bedside table, pressing them to his chest wiping away the evidence of their love making. Once Mickey had finally managed to dismount, he wiped up his groin and balled up the napkins, managing to aim them perfectly into the trash can beside their bed. Ian lifted himself shakily onto his knees. He reached out to Mickey, who was propped on his own knees, still heaving air in and out his lungs. The red head cupped his partners face in his hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “So good Mick,” he mumbled into the skin. “Took your punishment like a champ.”

Mickey leaned into Ian’s touch, and decided against telling him that their little fuck session was anything but a punishment. “Let’s go get cleaned up,” He chuckled instead, despite the aching need to sleep coursing through his veins.

Ian nodded flipping onto his ass and scooting to the end of the bed, standing on shaky legs and stretching out his muscles. Mickey did the same, but the moment his backside hit the bedspread, Ian’s hands shot out to grasp his husband’s ankles, yanking him roughly down to the end of the bed. Mickey yelped in surprise and huffed when he realized that he was face to face with a grinning Ian, who stood between Mickey’s open legs.

“Ian what the fuck are you-“ Mickey’s voice caught in his throat as Ian leaned down and kissed him, softly, slowly. The type of kiss that was so private and intimate that they could only share it in moments like this, when it was just them in their private bubble, insulated from the world. Mickey brought his bruised and bandaged hand up to his husband’s neck, savouring the sweet, wet heat of Ian’s lips. When Ian finally pulled away, he noticed the Mickey was looking up at him like he’d hung the fucking moon, the dim bedroom lights accentuated the dips and swells of his handsome features.

“C’mon,” Ian said, motioning to the door of their bedroom, which was still slightly ajar from when Ian had entered, “let me clean you up.”

Mickey stood hesitantly, getting his bearings, and nodded, silently. Very unlike him. In the outside world, Mickey’s sharp tongue and loud mouth were his most valuable weapons. Ian had learned over the years that when Mickey was silent, he felt safe. Especially at times like these, when Mickey was coming down off the unbridled and vulnerable high of being dominated, it made Ian feel overwhelmed with joy to think that he was Mickey’s safe space.

_____________________________________

“Shit Ian,” Mickey grunted as he tilted his head upward, examining the dark red mark in the mirror, left by the leather collar. Broken blood vessel made a faint ring that looped almost all the way around the front of his neck, with a few hickeys peppered around for good measure. “Good thing I don’t got a fucking job to go to tomorrow, they’d think I was the victim of domestic abuse or some shit.”

Ian chuckled as he rubbed lotion over his own arms, chest and legs. “Shut up you love it.” He quipped, and Mickey smirked at his own reflection in wordless agreement with the statement. They had both just dried off from the quick 5 minute shower Ian had insisted upon taking, where he had lathered them both up in his favourite mango body wash and went to work on Mickey’s favourite part of their sex life; the aftercare.

He had washed and cleaned every inch of Mickey, especially the sensitive parts that had been most involved in their little escapade. As rough as Ian could be during love making, he more than made up for it afterward, making Mickey feel like the most pampered submissive in the universe. Ian relished the allowance Mickey gave him in these moments to treat his body like a fine piece of art, laughing brightly every time Mickey winced and shifted as the wash cloth in Ian’s hand grazed his overly sensitive areas.

Once they were fully dried off, Ian had discarded the towels in the laundry hamper and picked up the lotion. “Let’s get you all smooth and shit.” He purred, after he had finished lotioning himself. Mickey continued to examine the marks Ian had left like clues in a scavenger hunt, all over his body.

Ian squeezed a large dollop of lotion onto the palm of his hand and moved his naked body against Mickey’s, pressing him into the sink ever so slightly. He began massaging the lotion into Mickey’s broad shoulders, methodically working out the very last of the whatever tension remained in his husband’s body. “I’m not going anywhere tomorrow either. Or Sunday.”

Mickey eyes brightened before snapping shut as Ian happened upon a particularly tense spot on his lower back and applied more pressure with his finger tips accordingly. “You have the next two days off? Man, that’s rare, you getting two days off in a row.” Mickey grunted and clamped his fingers down onto the sides of the sink. “Jesus, and on the weekend too!”

Ian watched Mickey’s face shift and change from pain to ecstasy and back as he worked his hands down his husband’s torso, massaging the lotion down low and lower until his grazed the top of his ass cheeks. He reached for the lotion once more, deciding to give Mickey’s ass the time and attention it deserved, especially after all he had put it through.

“I traded shifts with Merissa,” Ian explained softly. “Wanted to spend the weekend with you, besides-“ he began to massage the lotion down into Mickey’s ass cheeks, palming them tenderly but firmly, and Mickey resisted the urge to squirm, “Won’t be so easy to find time when you eventually get back out there. Our schedules never seem to line up…”

“Yeah,” Mickey murmured absently, unable to concentrate as Ian worked his hands down further before cupping each cheek in his hands, not sensually, but lovingly, as if his hands were where they belonged. Ian kept them there a few minutes more before moving to wrap his arms around his husbands waist. They stood like that for a while, their heads still swimming from the lingering effects of alcohol. Mickey with his eyes closed, absorbing Ian’s warmth.

Mickey thought about what Ian had said. Eventually. He would get a job eventually. Eventually isn’t fucking soon enough, Mickey thought dejectedly. Although Ian had assured him that his little break in employment was both affordable and good for him, Mickey still felt like shit. He made up his mind right then and there to do something about it tomorrow. Something that pained him greatly to think about. But a necessary move nonetheless, in order to get himself back on the straight and narrow. To be able to bring home money for his husband.

Opening his eyes blearily, Mickey noticed Ian looking at his reflection in the mirror, eyes fixed intently on the image. Mickey sighed. Now was as good a time as any to actually say out loud the words that this whole escapade had been leading up to.

“Man… look I’m sorry.” Mickey mumbled. He felt Ian’s arms tighten around his midsection. “I’m really goddamn sorry.” He added sincerely, letting go of the sink to place his hands over top of Ian’s. “I fucked up tonight. Bad.”

“Yeah,” Ian agreed, resting his head onto Mickey’s sturdy shoulder. “You did. Trevor is a good guy. And he was drunk, Mick. He probably won’t even remember what he said to make you clock him when he wakes up tomorrow.”

Mickey hung his head slightly, unable to meet Ian’s gaze in the mirror. “I’m sorry.” He said the only words he could say, wishing desperately he wasn’t so bad at communicating, even now after all this time. Maybe if he learned how to use his words instead of his fists, he wouldn’t have made a fucking fool of himself like he had. Not that the words he had said before he hit Trevor were any better.

Ian kissed his neck comfortingly before unwrapping his arms from Mickey’s waist. “Thanks Mick,” he whispered softly, “but you’re apologizing to the wrong person.” Mickey winced, sickened by the knowledge that his husband was dead on with that statement.

Raising his arms above his head, Ian yawned loudly. “It’s late as shit!” Ian declared, “I’d say it’s time to hit the sack.” He smiled at Mickey, offering his hand to the brunette.

Mickey took the offered hand, and felt the exhaustion engulf him. As he followed along behind his husband, back to the bedroom, he was struck once again by how goddamn lucky he was to be the one that got to go home with this enigmatic redhead; to curl up with him. To call him home. Both men sunk into bed, shifting their toys off of the bed and onto the floor, and Mickey turned off the light, leaving them in the comforting darkness.

“Hey.” Mickey heard Ian breath into the darkness.

“Mm?” Mickey murmured, already half asleep.

“I fucking love you shithead.”

Mickey chuckled into the pillow.

“I fucking love you more Firecrotch.”

After this, sleep came easily to Mickey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this concludes the first edition of Gallavich smut in this fic :) 
> 
> Next chapter: How about a little bit of... Yevgeny? Gay dads? I think so hehe


	4. Teen Titans!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yevgeny comes for a visit, and Mickey is being secretive about his plans... what is he up to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a fun chapter with loads of domestic!Gallavich and some Yevgeny goodness. Yevgeny and his dad's have been reunited for a year at this point- Mickey and Ian are making up for lost time!

“Mick!”

…

“Mickey!”

…

“MIKHAILO! Answer your goddamn phone!”

Mickey jolted upright in bed, the sound of Ian yelling his proper name pulling him out of the dream state he had been languishing in. “Huh? Wha-“

“It's been ringing every 2 minutes for the last half hour dipshit,” Ian groused, sleep distorting his voice, rolling over testily and covering his head with the blanket.

Mickey grabbed frantically for the loudly ringing phone, which was threatening to vibrate off of the nightstand, knocking over Ian’s pill bottles in the process. “Shit,” he hissed, too groggy to bother seeing who was calling before answering the call and pressing the phone up to his ear, rubbing at his swollen eye sockets and feeling the pit of a mild hangover drop into his stomach. 

“H-“ he did not have time to finish the greeting before the caller met him with a slur of high pitched, pissed off Russian.

“ _Nakonets, ty prosnulsya svin'ya_?!” The voice spat at him. Although Mickey did not understand what was being said, he certainly understood the tone of voice it was said in.

“Morning, Svet…” Mickey deadpanned, pulling the phone away from his ear slightly as the string of Russian expletives continued to flow through the phone, so as to not have his ear drum popped.

“It is Yevgeny’s week with Papa and orange boy!” Svetlana finally took pity on the thug, choosing to scream at him in English. “You promise to take son, but you sleep all morning! You disappoint him!”

Mickey sat up straighter and tried to shake the sleep out of his body. “The fuck- that’s next weekend isn’t it? The weekend of the 21st?” Mickey slid his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet onto the freezing hard wood floor.

“THIS IS WEEKEND OF 21ST!” Svetlana barked. Mickey wrenched the phone away from his head and looked at the screen to see the date shining back at him. November 21st; 11:28am.

“Ah shit!” Mickey groaned. “Ah fuck we totally dropped the ball Svet, I’m sor-“

“Do not say sorry,” Svetlana cut off the apology, “You take baby or no?” She always referred to Yev as a baby, despite the fact that the little boy had just turned six and was well into his first semester of grade one.

“Of course!” Mickey did not hesitate to answer, feeling like a dope and a bad father for forgetting his son's visit. He missed Yev terribly. “What time will you be here to drop him off?”

“We are on way now,” Svetlana grumbled, “Half hour before we arrive.”

Mickey suddenly heard a little voice pipe up on the other end of the phone, “Is that Papa? HI PAPA!” Yevgeny crowed over the line, melting Mickey’s heart like butter.

“Hi little man!” Mickey greeted.

“ _Tebe povezlo, chto ya privel yego voobshche_!” Svetlana interrupted their conversation, promptly pressing the disconnect button on her car phone.

Mickey growled angrily, slamming his phone down on the bedside table. Svetlana was a wonderful mother, but a shitty co-parent. Leaning back onto the bed, he shook Ian’s shoulder violently.

“Whaaaaaaat,” Ian roused from his sleep once again, rolling to glare at Mickey from over the blanket that was pulled up to his nose, “Need more sleep, Mick.”

Mickey pulled himself swiftly off of the bed, feeling his head pounding slightly as he took wide strides over to the closet, flinging the door open and rummaging around to pull out a fresh pair of boxers, jeans and a shirt for himself, and then selecting some clothes from Ian’s side as well. “We fuckin’ forgot!” He exclaimed as he threw Ian’s clothes onto the bed and began pulling on his boxers.

Ian sat up slightly, and grabbed the shirt that had landed on his side, “What are you talking about?” He asked incredulously.

“Yevy,” Mickey responded curtly, stepping into his jeans, yanking them up and buttoning them.

Ian’s eyes widened, losing their sleepy look. “Ohhhh shit!” He finally understood, and began pulling on the shirt Mickey has picked out for him. “I thought that was next-“

“So did I,” Mickey agreed shimmying into his own shirt, “But we were fuckin wrong, so we gotta clean this shithole up, because Svet’s bringing him soon and this place isn’t exactly-“ the box of toys caught his eye from where it had been left on the floor from the night before, “-kid friendly.”

Ian laughed a little at this, and grappled with the covers in order to free himself from them and stand up, snatching the boxers from the bed to step into them. He bent down to scoop up the pile of toys that lay on his side of the bed, and brought them over to the box, dumping them into it along side the rest of it’s contents. “We’ll clean them later,” he assured Mickey.

Mickey took a deep breath and ran his unbandaged hand through his messy bed-head, as he watched Ian pick up the box and store it back in the closet, on the highest shelf, out of the reach of curious little hands.

“Okay here’s the plan,” Mickey moved to grab his phone from the bedside table, slotting into his back pocket, “I’m gonna go take this bandage off and check out my hand. Then I’m going to go clean up the kitchen and start breakfast- lunch I guess, for us and Yev. He’s always ready to eat when he gets here.”

Ian couldn’t help but take a moment to admire Mickey and the effort he put towards his son. Mickey would not admit it out loud, but he took great pride in the way he treated his son, and in being a great dad. He knew that Mickey deeply regretted how stand offish he had been during the first year and a half of Yev’s life, often citing it as “dangerously close to Terry-like behaviour”, and he now took every opportunity to make it up to the sweet child.

“Sounds great,” Ian approached his husband and kissed him on the cheek, “I’m gonna take my meds, gather up the dirty laundry, throw it in the washer, and make sure Yev’s room is ready for him..” Mickey nodded and gently squeezed Ian’s shoulder, thanking him silently for the help. With that, both men set out on their own specific tasks, the excitement of Yevgeny’s visit spurning them on.

_____________________________________________________________

“Mmmm, something smells good,” Ian hummed as he entered the kitchen, where Mickey was busily hunched over the stove, flipping golden brown grill cheeses from a pan onto three plates that sat on the counter. Mickey grinned over his shoulder at his husband before turning to lift the lid off of a pot he had simmering on the burner beside the pan. He reached for the wooden spoon he had sitting beside the stove, and stirred the contents of the pot. Ian could see the empty can of tomato soup as he came closer. “Yev’s favourite!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah I thought I’d try and make it up to him for being shitty and forgetting he was coming.” Mickey murmured absently, placing the lid back onto the simmer pot with the wooden spoon still trapped inside.

Ian snorted as he rummaged through the utensil drawer, “Yev doesn’t give a fuck about that, Svetlana just likes to make you believe he does so she can make you feel like shit,” Ian pulled out three spoons from the drawer, two big ones, and one smaller one, before opening the cabinet over head to grab three bowls of the soup.

Mickey shrugged his shoulders at that, “Yeah well it’s fuckin working.” He flipped the last grilled cheese over in the pan, letting the side brown with a hiss.

Placing the bowls and spoons down on each of the plates, Ian grumbled, feeling just a little ticked off at the way Svetlana attempted to manipulate Mickey. The south side thug did not have many weak points, but his son was definitely one of them, and Svetlana tended to prey on that particular sensitivity whenever it suited her. “He’s always just happy to be here, Mick, whether it’s just a day or a week. He loves you like hell.” Ian patted his husbands back reassuringly.

Mickey smiled at this, trying to believe Ian’s words. “Speakin' of good parenting, did you make sure all of our weird sex and drug shit is away?” He questioned the red-head who nodded emphatically.

“Yes dear, all the dongs and bongs are hidden.” He joked, poking Mickey’s side with a finger. Mickey rolled his eyes, trying to not be as amused as he clearly was. He swerved around his husband with the hot pan, carefully lifting the final grilled cheese onto the plate that would be Yevgeny’s.

“Is this done?” Ian asked, referring to the pot of tomato soup.

“Should be,” Mickey responded, after running warm water into the pan and placing it into the kitchen sink when it was sufficiently cool.

Ian flicked off both burners off and used a pot holder to lift the pot off of the stove. Tilting the pot slightly, he poured the simmering contents into each of the bowls, adding a little more for himself and Mickey and a little less for Yev, who would eat tomato soup until he threw up if they let him.

Mickey turned, brandishing a knife, and cut each sandwich down the middle, cutting Yevgeny’s into quarters so they would fit better in his small hands. Ian could help but grin at his husbands uncharacteristic Attention to detail when it came to his son. Ian knew they spoiled the shit out of the little boy, but neither one was sorry. Debbie had admonished him once, telling Ian that Dr. Phil would call what they were doing, “parenting out of guilt”. Fuck Dr. Phil, Ian thought cheekily. Both he and Mickey would have been over the moon to have a father who would make them grill cheese and tomato soup.

Ian helped his husband take the plates out of the kitchen over to their small dining table by the window. Once the steaming plates were placed around the table, Ian took a moment to peak between the window blinds for the first time that day. “Damn,” he stated, upon seeing the blanket of white covering every surface of the outside world. “We got a shit ton of snow, Mick!”

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he joined Ian at the window, peering out of the gap Ian’s fingers had made in the blinds. Ian was not kidding, there was indeed a shit ton of snow outside, which had appeared out of nowhere as the the man had slept. “Welcome to winter Chicago!” Mickey whistled.

It was the tail end of November and the first snow of the season- right on time- and seemed to be a big hit with their neighborhood. Mickey and Ian watched in amusement as packs of kids from the neighbouring houses, struggling in their bulky snow suits, ran all up and down the street, igniting snowball fights and jumping head first into the snow banks that had built up from the early morning plow passing through. After enjoying the show for a moment, Ian dropped the blinds back into place and pulled a chair back from the table, taking a seat.

Mickey did the same, settling down to wait for his boy to arrive. “You hungover?” He asked Ian, suddenly reminded of the wild night they had been through.

Ian used two fingers to rub at his temple, eyes closed as he leaned his elbow onto the table. “Mmm, a little. You?” Mickey nodded his head slightly.

“Same here. Nothin' serious.” His mind immediately turned to the decision he had made last night, and gritted his teeth. He had to bring it up to Ian, at least to tell him that he needed some time today, to take care of business.

“Hey listen,” Mickey began slowly, trying to figure out how to say what he needed to say without making Ian suspicious. “So… I have some shit I gotta take care of today, so I might need to dip out for an hour or so after Yev gets settled in… is that cool?”

Ian put a pause on rubbing at his temple and opened his eyes to look at husband, cocking one eyebrow upward. “Take care of?” He finally repeated. “What kind of shit?”

Mickey huffed, a little miffed at himself for botching the attempt to act casual. “Just some personal shit okay? Don’t worry about it.”

Ian let both eyebrows fall, shooting a look at his husband that made Mickey feel like an idiot. “Do you have any idea how disturbing it is to hear a Milkovich say ‘don’t worry about it’? It’s a surefire way to make me worry about it.”

Mickey leaned back in the chair, watched the steam rise from the bowls of soup in front of them, resisting his natural instinct to blow up, end the conversation and do whatever he was going to do without Ian having shit to say about it. He took a deep breath in and let it out, deciding upon a different tactic.

“Okay,” Mickey softened his voice, “look, I swear I’m not getting into shit Gallagher. There’s just something I need to do, for both of us. And if I tell you, I’m gonna want to do it even less. So don’t question it, and, like I said-“ he reached his freshly bandaged hand out to Ian across the table, palm up, “Don’t fuckin worry about it.”

Ian rolled his eyes at the brunettes impromptu speech and took his hand, squeezing it lightly. “Fine,” he conceded. “Me and Yev will have some fun in the snow together while you’re gone then!” Mickey couldn’t help but smile warmly at the thought of his two favourite people romping around in the snow while they waited for him to return. It made the thought of what he was forcing himself to do slightly more bearable.

Mickey’s train of thought was interrupted as the sound of loud and furious banging at the door filled their small open plan living area. Both men sprang to their feet excitedly. “S’open!” Mickey hollered, grinning from ear to ear.

The door handle turned rapidly and the door burst open, allowing a squealing YEVGENY to rush into the house, tossing his Batman backpack to the side like so much rubbish before zeroing in like a raging bull on his two cheesing dad’s. “Papa! Daddy!” Mickey dropped to one knee, arms open wide, just in time for the little boy’s body- all 55 lbs of him- to crash into his chest. Mickey wrapped the boy into a tight bear hug, squeezing him until he heard Yevy gasp for air.

“Hi buddy!” Mickey greeted his son, matching the little boy’s enthusiasm. He loosen his grip slightly, realizing he might be crushing the boy, but Yevgeny’s arms were still coiled tightly around his neck.

“Did you miss me?!” Yev’s voice was muffled against his father’s shoulder. Mickey took his opportunity to inhale deeply, savouring the smell of his son’s freshly washed strawberry-blond hair, mixed with the sharp scent of the brisk outdoor weather that clung to him.

“Of course I missed you silly,” he chuckled, as YEVGENY finally pulled away from the embrace. The boy flashed him a giant smile, making his cold rosy cheeks even more pronounced than usual. “Did you miss me?” He countered.

“Uh-huh! A whole bunch!” Yevy exclaimed, bouncing joyfully on his toes.

“How about me?” Came Ian’s voice from behind the two, and Yevgeny’s eyes brightened even more. He hardly gave the redhead a chance to kneel beside Mickey, as he lunged forward, practically climbing Ian’s long torso.

“Daddy!” The little boy crowed, and Ian laughed as he was nearly knocked over by the impact of Yevgeny’s embrace, taking the tight hug as an affirmative.

“Easy there tiger!” Ian remarked playfully, using the backward momentum to swing the six year old around, eliciting a high pitched shriek from the boy that nearly broke the sound barrier.

“Da, everybody miss everybody.” Ian and Mickey both turned their attention to their front door where Svetlana gasped for breath, after having finally made it up the many flights of their walk up while lugging Yevgeny’s overnight bag, a duffle containing a week’s worth of clothes, and Yev’s prized possession- his favourite blue blankie. She dropped it all in a heap next to Yevgeny’s discarded backpack and straightened her back, cracking it loudly with her hand in the process. “Thank you for help, _ublyudok_ and orange boy.” She sneered.

Mickey grunted. Even know he knew very little Russian, however he did recognize the word she used to refer to him. _Ublyudok_. Bastard.

“Hi Lana,” Ian greeted her good-naturedly, still bouncing around with Yevy hanging from his neck, giggling with glee. “You look good!” He could see from the opening in her winter parka that her belly protruded ever so slightly, the beginning of a baby bump starting to appear. “Another bun in the oven I see.”

Svetlana adjusted her winter hat down over her ears with gloved fingers. She was dressed well, the outfit she wore looked brand new and Mickey could see a gold chain hanging from around her neck, winking in the light as if to taunt him.

“Knocked up again?,” he grumbled, heading reluctantly over to his estranged ex-wife in order to help bring the bags further inside. “How much are you getting paid for this one?”

Svetlana smirked smugly, “Enough.” She replied curtly. “Clients hail from New York. Big private jet. Own hotel chain in Chicago. Bought me nice big car for bringing Yevgeny to school and to you.”

She had made quite the business for herself as a surrogate after her wealthy old husband had kicked the bucket. After all, his money would only last her so long without being padded in some way, and it was wonderfully convenient to only have to find new obscenely rich clients every 9 months, give or take. It was hell on her body, but she had managed to secure a beautiful house for herself and Yev in a top notch part of the city. Mickey could have cared less how Svetlana made her income as long as his son was happy, healthy, and well looked after, which he appeared to be. The high-yield college fund she had opened for Yevgeny was also a sweet bonus in Mickey’s eyes.

“You are bad at remembering so let me remind you,” Svetlana lectured the ex-con, “Yevgeny has piano lessons Tuesday and Thursday. Swim club on Wednesday, after school. Birthday party for little friend“

“Saturday, I fuckin know.” Mickey barked as he laid the last of his son’s expansive luggage to the side, “Yev told me all about it when he called the other night. I just got the goddamn weeks mixed up Svet, honest mistake.”

Svetlana’s eyes narrowed but she backed off. “No excuse.” She grumbled under her breath.

“You’re always a breath of fresh fuckin air, you know that?” Mickey bites back at her. “Say goodbye to your son.” He pointed in the direction of the still giggling little boy, where he was being hung upside down by Ian, who was trying desperately to distract the little guy from his bickering parents.

Svetlana snorted and opened her arms. “Yevgeny, _moy malen'kiy yagnenok_ ,” she cooed, “come give mama a big hug and kiss goodbye!”

Yevgeny struggles in Ian’s grasp as the redhead carefully places him right side up on the floor. Once he is free he scampers over to his mother, and they hug one another tenderly, Svetlana peppering kisses all over the little boys face before he can pull away.

“Goodbye my darling,” Svetlana says as she prepares to brave the cold once again, “see you soon, _Ya lyublyu tebya_!”

“ _Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu_!” Yevgeny responds with a wave, his flawless accent always startling his other two parents slightly.

With that, Svetlana closes the door behind her, shooting one last intimidating glare Mickey’s way before the door can close all the way. Mickey allows himself a moment to fume silently before pushing the feeling away and turned with a pleasant smile towards Yevgeny.

“You hungry buddy?” He asked, to which Yevgeny bounced and nodded vigorously. He had kicked his shoes off moments before, and was now struggling slightly with getting his winter jacket unzipped. Ian placed a large hand on his head, tousling his blond locks until they failed to retain the combed back state Svetlana had meticulously crafted them into earlier that morning.

“Come help me bring your stuff into your room Yevy!” Ian helped him shed the coat, tossing it fluidly to Mickey, and motioned towards the hallway, “Then me you and Papa will eat lunch and watch tv!”

“Teen Titans?!” Yevgeny crowed with excitement, causing Mickey to nearly miss the wall hook when hanging up his little jacket, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Whatever you want!” Ian gave Mickey a wink, signalling for him to go grab the remote and get the TV set up for their return. Yevgeny wasted no time in helping Ian drag his bags down the hallway at the promise of TV and food.

Mickey sighed blissfully as he watched them disappear into Yevy’s room. He made his way over to the TV in the corner of their little living area, which, although hedged in by their old couch and recliner, was perfect viewing distance away from the table. Mickey turned on the x-box (last years birthday gift from Ian), and deftly grabbed the remote, bringing the TV to life. He quickly maneuvered the menu, selecting Netflix from the list of options and picking Yev’s favorite show from the “continue watching” section. The cartoon began playing on the screen, in the middle of the episode Yev had left off on. It was Svetlana's account, much to Mickey's chagrin. _No way in hell would I be shelling out 10 bucks a month for this shit_ , Mickey thought. That was a second thing to be thankful to Svetlana for, besides the little boy one room over. 

Throwing the remote onto the couch, Mickey returned to the table, where he sat down once again to wait for his boys to return. He heard as much a felt his stomach growl angrily, as he had yet to eat a single bite of food yet that day. Snatching one half of the grill cheese off of his plate, he dipped the end into the rapidly cooling tomato soup and took a bite, almost moaning with satisfaction of finally putting something into his stomach. It was amazing how good something so simple could taste.

“Papa!” He heard Yevy call from the end of the hallway, his little footsteps rapidly getting closer. The little boy bounded around the corner, his socked feet nearly causing him to slip and fall on his ass at least twice. Ian followed behind him reaching out to grab him each time the six year old lost his balance, missing him by a hair each time.

“Come eat Yev,” Mickey invited, around a mouthful of grill cheese and soup, patting the seat next to him “we made your favorite! Should be cool enough to eat now.”

Yevgeny gasped in delight, clambering up onto the seat like a little monkey, perching on his feet, skinny legs folded under him. He licked his lips before digging in, devouring an entire quarter of the grilled cheese before Ian could even join them at the table. “Mmmmmm,” Yevy hummed happily, shovelling spoonfuls of tomato soup into his mouth. “Thank you Papa, thank you Daddy!” He said sweetly, voice dripping with his signature honey. Mickey often marvelled that Yevy had any Milkovich blood in him at all, with how kind and thoughtful the little boy was on a regular basis.

“It was all Papa’s idea,” Ian explained to the boy as he himself began chowing down.

“Welcome little man,” Mickey belched, “now sit on your butt when you’re at the table, last thing we need is for you to fall off the chair and crack your head open, your Mama would throw a fit.”

Yevgeny giggled at this, but complied with his father’s request. All three boys took a moment to eat, savouring their food. “You want something to drink Yevy?” Ian placed his spoon down and asked the boy, who was intently focused on the his TV show as he chewed away pleasantly.

“Yes please!” Yev nodded, wiggling in his chair. “Apple juice!”

“Sounds good!” Ian shifted to look at Mickey as he rose from his seat, “How about you Papa?”

Mickey poked an elbow over into his sons side. “Apple juice sounds rad to me too, thanks!” He responded to his husband.

“Two apple juices coming right up,” Ian chirped, heading into the kitchen to fulfill the request.

“So squirt,” Mickey spoke to Yev, drawing the little boys attention away from the squawking on the tv, “How’s it going? How’s school? Learning lots of good stuff?”

Yevy bounced in his seat excitedly, unable to stay still for even a minute. “Uh uh, school is fun! Ms. Thomas is teaching us how to tell time all by ourselves.” Yev’s head swivelled around, locating the wall clock hanging on the column next to the kitchen. The little boy squinted and pursed his lips for a few seconds before shouting, “It’s 12:30!” He smiled at his father gleefully.

Mickey’s eyes lit up with pride, “Great job, bud! You’re so smart!” He showered the little boy with the praise he wished he’d received when he was Yevy’s tend age. That being said, he genuinely doubted he had been as smart as Yev when he was in first grade; Yevy was a ‘fast learner’ and ‘extremely bright’, as his teachers wrote on his school reports. The six year old was fluent in both Russian and English, and was consistently pulling ahead of the others in his class.

Ian returned then with two plastic cups of apple juice, setting them down in front of his boys. “I was thinking you and I could go out and play in the snow after we eat Yevy, what do you think?” He asked as he sat back in his seat and resumed eating. “We got some trash can lids outback that would make great sleds!” He wiggled his eyebrows at the little boy, causing him to giggle.

“Yeah!” Yevgeny agreed, finishing off his soup and discarding the final piece of his grill cheese on the plate, despite the single bite taken out of the end. He turned to Mickey, “Are you gonna come play too Papa?”

Mickey bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head. “Papa’s got a few things to do today before we can play kiddo, so it’s just gonna be you and daddy for a few hours,” he reached out and picked up the pieces of food Yevgeny was finished with, taking them for himself so they wouldn’t go to waste.

Yevgeny pouted at this. “But Papaaaa…” he whined.

“Hey, Wipe that look off your face,” Mickey shot his free hand out, tickling at his son's ribs, causing him to squirm and laugh. “I’ll just be gone for a little bit, you and daddy can go out and have some fun while you wait for me to come back. Then we have all of tonight and tomorrow to hang out before school on Monday! You’ll have us all to yourself okay?” Mickey took a long sip of the cool apple juice in his glass, waiting for a response.

Yevgeny reached out for his apple juice with both hands and took a sip, clearly imitating his beloved father. “Okay!” He said into the cup, and returned to watching his favorite show.

Mickey stood, piling their empty plates and bowls together. “Good kid,” he hummed, and then spoke to his husband, who seemed to be just as engrossed in the tv as Yevy was. “I’m gonna head out soon I guess,” he said gingerly, resenting himself for what he was about to go do.

If he had not felt so desperate for work he would avoid this little errand all together, but Mickey was running out of options, just as they would soon be running out of money, in spite of how Ian kept insisting they were fine. Mickey knew if he didn’t want to go back to pushing drugs, pimping, or theft, he would have to humble himself.

“Huh?” Ian struggled to pull himself away from screen, but when his eyes finally met Mickey’s they flashed with recognition. “Oh yeah, sure. Yev and I will be just fine for a few hours. You go take care of… whatever it is you have to do.” Mickey was astonished at Ian’s faith in him, especially after the events of last night. Mickey quickly took the dishes to the sink, disposing of the left over scraps of crust into the compost under the sink. He was careful to only use his unbandaged hand to scoop warm water over the plates and bowls. Once he was satisfied that the dishes had been rinsed thoroughly enough he wiped his hand on the dish towel beside the sink and rounded the corner and towards the bedroom to grab what he needed.

In their bedroom, Mickey swiped his favorite plaid button up from the back of Ian’s desk chair and then headed across to the bathroom where he brushed his teeth, gargled some mouthwash and applied a thin coat of gel to his messy bed head, pulling it back away from his forehead. The thugs head was still pounding slightly, and so he opened the medicine cabinet and fished out the large bottle of Tylenol. He took a handful- yes a handful- and swallowed them dry, wincing as the tablets slid down his throat. There. That should hold him off. After reaching through the neck hole of his undershirt to apply a thick coat of deodorant, he was finally satisfied, looking at himself one last time in the mirror, before exiting the bathroom.

He passed the washer and dryer in the hallway, noticing that the load Ian had put in the dryer before Yevgeny had arrived was done washing, apparent because the old beat up washer was no longer bouncing fitfully as it usually did during a cycle, regardless of whether there was a full load or one shirt in it. Mickey paused to open the top down and extricate the sopping pile of clothes, transferring them hastily from the washer drum and into the dryer. He turned the nob up to the highest setting and pressed the on button, the dryer whirring to life under his touch.

Upon coming to the end of the hallway he heard the sound of Ian and Yevy both laughing hysterically and the sounds of the cartoon blaring in the background. He smiled warmly as he entered the living area to see his son and his husband sprawled out on the couch now. Yev reclined with his little back against the arm of the couch, clutching a throw pillow tightly to his chest and resting his feet on his dad’s lap. Ian’s cheek lay in the palm of his hand as he leaned against the other arm of the chair, his own feet stacked on top of one another, resting on little leather automan he loved so much (one of his favorite dumpster diving finds from when they were furnishing their apartment).

Ian and Yevgeny warbled away to one another about what was happening to the characters on screen and Mickey just stood still for a moment behind them, appreciating the serenity of rare moments like this, where they were all together. A family. This thought made it even harder to break his trance and grab his coat from the hook by the door, carefully unhooking Yevgeny’s little coat first so as not to send it tumbling to the floor. He quickly chose his footwear from the pile, sinking his feet down into the thick leather boots that he knew the snow wouldn’t leak through.

Mickey sauntered around to the side of the couch as he pulled one arm through his jacket sleeve and then the other. “Alright guys, I’ve gotta head out now.” He dropped to one knee in front of Yevgeny, who whipped the pillow away from his chest in favour of lunging into his fathers embrace once again. “See you in a bit, monkey,” he spoke into Yevgeny’s blond hair, feeling it tickle his nose slightly. “Be good for daddy, and have fun!” The little boy nodded and pulled away.

“We finally get to have a Yevy/Daddy day!” Ian tried to hype the little boy up, to which Yevy squealed in excitement. Mickey beamed and pulled himself up with a grunt, eager to kiss his husband goodbye. “Alright old man, don’t hurt yourself,” Ian teased.

Mickey scoffed and flicked the red-head on the forehead playfully. Ian, refusing to be rebuffed, leaned upward for a shallow but meaningful kiss in front of their son. When Mickey pulled away, Ian grabbed at his shirt to keep him still and looked him square in the eye. “You smell good…” suspicion dripped from his words.

“Jesus Christ can’t a man smell good?” Mickey quipped, half jokingly and half defensively. Ian stayed silent but squinted at him slightly, as if he was trying to figure him out. Mickey interrupted his gaze by swooping back in to plant another kiss on the ginger’s lips. “Love you Firecrotch,” he whispered upon straightening back up, wordlessly begging Ian to stop worrying with the look in his eyes.

“Love you too,” Ian responded sincerely, and then mouthed the words, “be careful,” so that the six year old to their left wouldn’t pick up on it. Mickey sniffed and gave a stiff nod, almost imperceptible to anyone but the man who knew him best. With that Mickey turned to leave, patting down his body in order to check that he was carrying both his phone and his wallet as he moved towards the door.

“Bye Papa, I love youuuu!” Yevy crowed, not taking his eyes from the TV.

“I love you too squirt,” Mickey chuckled, as he wrenched open the front door, bracing against a strong gust of freezing cold winter air. He squinted and covered his eyes just a tad with his hands, trying to adjust to the blinding sun which seemed to be bouncing off of the impossibly white snow on the ground and directly into his eye sockets. “Fuuuuuuuck,” Mickey groaned under his breath , allowing himself not another moment to linger, zipping his jacket up to the nape of his neck and braving out into the world as he regretfully closed the door to his little world behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's Mickey going to do? Get ready for some angst next chapter kids...


	5. You. Don't. Fucking. Scare. Me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey does what he has to do in order get what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a super fun chapter to write because it's mostly verbal sparing and Mickey's inner dialogue with himself, which is always a treat to explore. 
> 
> Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think! :)

Mickey lit up a cigarette as he waited at the bus stop, but only got a few puffs out of it before the Southside bound bus pulled up to the curb, showering his boots with the grayish slush that had already started accumulating on the sides of the road. Grumbling testily, Mickey flicked the half cigarette into the slush and clambered onto the bus, flipping the driver his bus pass on his way to the very back, where he sunk into his seat. Where he was going was too far to walk, especially in this weather, and since Ian had insisted, he purchase a bus pass so as to save money, he figured he might as well use it. Cheaper than a fuckin car, he reminded himself repeatedly. Which was exactly why it was so important for him to go do this.

He settled himself into the ride, his mind racing with thoughts and plans, deciding what exactly he would do, what he should say. You would never know to look at him, but Mickey had a vibrant internal dialogue and he truly was a worrywart, although his thoughts hardly ever translated well from his head to his mouth. Which is exactly why he needed to go over what he was going to do, what he was going to say when he made it to Trevor’s office at the Youth Center. He was shit at apologizing to begin with, which made the conversation he needed to have with the man even more difficult. But it needed to be done, no matter how much the act made his skin crawl.

Trevor may be the only thing standing between him and employment. Mickey recognized now that he was not in the position to be turning down offers of help, no matter who they came from. Trevor had offered him a lifeline during dinner the previous night and Mickey all but pissed it away by acting out the way he had. He assumed the offer was revoked the moment that his knuckles had connected with Trevor’s face. This outing was a strategic move; play nice with Trevor for long enough to get what he was after. That’s why he needed to make this shit good, make it seem heartfelt and sincere. Mickey rehearsed the words in his head as the bus careened down the snow-covered Southside streets, stopping to pick up passengers every few stops.

‘ _I’m sorry I busted your face and said all that offside shit to you_ ,’ Mickey shook his head and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. How was he ever going to set a good example for Yevgeny if he couldn’t even work up to a halfway realistic apology? Mickey tried again. ‘ _I’d really like to apologize…_ ” he began in his mind, liking that way of beginning the sentence much better, “... f _or clocking you and saying all of that nasty transphobic shit to you._ ” There, that sounded a bit more like a real apology. Not to mention the thug really was feeling like a grade a douche bag for the stupid, drunken words that had fallen from his mouth, like an unstoppable tidal wave in the midst of his rage. One thing he hated about himself, despite the astonishing progress he had made over the years, was his apparent inability to stop himself from saying whatever was on his mind when he got angry.

He’d have to work on that dark part of himself too. Be better. Do better. Ian didn’t like to admit it, but he depended on Mickey just as much as Mickey depended on him. Being a shit talking Southside piece of trash was all fine and good when it didn’t directly fuck with making a living and being someone his son could respect. Mickey wasn’t sure of the exact moment his priorities had shifted so drastically, but he was pretty sure it was somewhere in between marrying the love of his life and reconnecting with Yevgeny, who looked at him with stars in his eyes and so much hope and love it made Mickey feel like his a heart attack was pending. He had to be more for his son than his father ever could have been for him. Ian often reminded him gently that he already was, by a long shot. Some days Mickey knew it was true. Some days he wasn’t so sure.

If this meant he needed to get on his knees and beg Ian’s ex-boyfriend for mercy, so be it, Mickey decided firmly. He refused to get sucked back into the game, going so far as to cut off contact with every sordid character attached to the Milkovich operation as soon as he and Ian had tied the knot. It was easy money when times were good, but when things went sour (as Mickey knew they always did) there was a hell of a price to pay.

When Mickey finally emerged from the bus he stood on the street corner outside of the LGBTQA+ Youth Center for a while. Craning his neck up, he gazed over the facade of the building; the old building would have looked like a jail if it weren’t for the colorful paintings that adorned the marred brickwork, left by the kids who frequented the Center. This combined with the big ass rainbow flag that hung over the doorway really brightened the place up.

Mickey lit up another smoke, determined to finish this one and calm the shaking in his knees at the thought of what he was about to do. To anyone else, this would have been a simple exchange. But not for Mickey Milkovich, oh no. Nothing was ever simple or straightforward. He took his time to savor each puff, nursing the nicotine in his lungs before expelling it into the cold air. He dropped the butt when he was good and ready, extinguishing the embers with the heel of his boot. Show time, he thought, smoothing a hand through his gelled hair and taking a deep shuddering breath in.

A group off teens exited the building as Mickey approached, giggling and carrying on with one another. The last to leave stayed behind his friends for a few seconds longer, holding open the door for Mickey to pass through. Mickey nodded curtly at the young man, his version of a thank you and slipped into the doorway, catching the door as the boy let go of it, easing it closed behind him so as to avoid the loud bang that would have ensued had he just let it go.

Mickey found himself in the small waiting room that served as the entrance way to the councilor's offices. The large meet space and rec-room could be accessed around the back of the building, but the front was strictly business. Mickey had been here once or twice before with Ian, but it felt like a very strange and foreign place without the redhead’s presence. He immediately felt as though he didn’t belong in the space, which made his anxiety even harder to deny and push down. Fuck, Mickey swore to himself.

Nearly every chair that lined the walls of room was occupied, mostly by youngsters, many of whom looked in sore need of some professional attention. Mickey moved towards the front desk, his eyes making quick work of his surroundings. Damn, he thought distractedly, some of these kids look so fuckin strung out it’s a miracle they can even sit up straight. Indeed, many of the chair’s occupants sat slumped into themselves, dead-eyed and desperate.

A part of Mickey could not help by instantly sympathize with them; he had been one step away from being in their shoes for most of his adolescence. He knew what it felt like to be impoverished, addicted, and at the end of his rope; to be the ultimate loser of the family lottery. He was glad to see these poor teens here and not on the street corners. At least they’re smart enough to reach out for some goddamn help, he conceded. Unlike my stubborn ass.

Before he could realize that he had let his mind wander way off, he was pulled out of his own head by the voice of the young woman who sat behind the reception desk, walled off by Plexiglas and thin iron bars, insulating her from the rest of the waiting room; a precautionary measure. “Can I help you sir?” She asked pleasantly, her voice slightly distorted from squeezing out through the perforated hole carved in the Plexiglas. Mickey stared at her dumbly, every plan he had escaping his mind like so much smoke.

“Uhh…” his mouth hung open as he tried to conjure up the words.

“Sir? Are you alright?” The young woman had serious concern in her eyes, and it made since considering the type of clientele she was used to interacting with.

Mickey inhaled sharply through his nose and had the presence of mind to nod, and push the words out through his clumsily lips. “‘m fine. Need to see Trevor.”

The woman smiled at his slightly and pushed her bottled dyed burgundy hair away from her eyes. “Oh, I see! Do you have an appointment with him or-“?

“No.” Mickey cut her off, realizing he was being rude after it was too late to stop himself. “No appointment.”

The young woman grimaced, “Unfortunately Trevor’s book up all day… weekends are pretty busy around here. But I can set you up with a day and time if you-“

Once again Mickey cut the poor woman off mid sentence. “No!” He felt instantly remorseful when he saw her eyes widen at the abrasiveness of his response. He leaned one arm against the Plexiglas and sighed. “Shit… look. I don’t need an appointment. What I need him for won’t take long. Can you… can you just ask him to see me? Tell him it’s Mickey.”

The young woman squinted her eyes at him and pursued her lips. After a long moment she reached for the phone on her desk and punched in a three digits code, not taking her eyes off of Mickey the entire time. After a tense moment of unbroken eye contact she finally looked away when she began speaking into the phone. “Hi Trevor, there’s someone here to see you. He has no appointment but… do you know a ‘Mickey’?” The thug tensed as he heard the mumbled reply come through the earpiece. “Oh okay, very good, bye Trevor.” She said before glancing back at Mickey and replacing the phone in its cradle.

“You can go on back, take the corridor to the left and it should be about four doors down on your right.” The young woman chirped, motioning to the hallway to her right, a white corridor lined with posters and banners, all colorful and LGBTQA+ friendly. Mickey was a little stunned, and for a moment he did not move. He was half expecting to be turned away. Trevor had every right to not want to see the guy who decked him the night before.

“Right, okay, thanks…” Mickey grunted, finding his legs beneath him, shuffling towards the corridor and leaving the waiting room behind. As he made his way down the hall his mind and heartbeat seemed to be racing each other for first place. He contemplated turning tail and saying fuck it to the whole convoluted idea, but he kept batting these thoughts away with reminders of his financial situation and the pressure he was under.

Why are you such a little bitch, Milkovich? He chastised himself as he turned the corner and neared Trevor’s office, why are you so scared of saying you’re sorry. He knew, after years of uncomfortable soul detaching, that it was because he didn’t like to feel like a weakling, and he had been raised to believe that apologies made a man weak. Terry never apologized to his kids. Not once. The words “I’m sorry” were mutinous words in the Milkovich household. So they were never sorry. For anything. Even if they should be.

Mickey forcefully banished these thoughts from his head as he arrived at the fourth door on his right, barely giving himself a moment to breath before swinging his body into the door frame. Trevor sat near the back of the tiny office at his desk, which housed a beaten-up laptop, and mounds of paperwork that intensified Mickey’s dull headache just to look at.

Mickey’s eyes scanned over the small man. He looked like shit. His shoulders were hunched forward and his curly brown hair was a wild mop atop his head. His fingers had clearly been running through his frayed waves all night; he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink. Worst of all, Mickey’s gaze caught on the man’s face, where his boyish features were screwed up in concentration as he typed away at the laptop. Trevor sported a healthy black and blue bruise under his left eye, a half moon that stretched from the corner of his tear duct to the peak of his swollen cheekbone. Below this prominent welt, Trevor’s left cheek was a battlefield of mottled bruises, nearly a perfect imprint of Mickey’s knuckles. His top lip was slightly split as well, still crusted with drying blood. Mickey felt his stomach gurgle and flip at the sight of his handy work, as it finally sunk in how hard the thug had punched the man before him.

Trevor’s eyes snapped up to greet him coldly as Mickey’s frame settled to a halt in the doorway. “Morning.” The councilor spat, his tone as frigid and sharp as the icicles that hung from the eve outside his office window. He shifted in his seat, thick eyebrows furrowing even more intensely. “Come in and close the door.” He instructed Mickey.

It took all of Mickey’s strength to resist the urge to tell him to go to hell and leave. The ex-con did not take kindly to demands. He reminded himself for the millionth time why he even showed up that day, and quietly entered the office, closing the door behind him and coming to stand awkwardly in from of the desk Trevor was shielded behind. He shifted from foot to foot, unable to stay still for even a minute, lest he lose his nerve.

Trevor snapped his laptop shut and leaned his elbows onto the surface of his desk, the only spots not occupied by a document of some kind. He worked his small hand through his scruffy beard, clearly contemplating his next words very carefully. Eventually, he sighed deeply and spoke deliberately.

“Why did you come here?” Trevor inquired pointedly, staring straight into Mickey’s eyes in a way that he was ashamed to say intimidated him despite Trevor’s relatively small stature. Without giving Mickey a chance to respond, he continued. “Because my kids have to come in for their sessions and see me like this,” he emphasized the word by jabbing towards his injured face with his finger, “for the next few weeks before it heals.”

Mickey gritted his teeth but uttered not a sound. He knew Trevor was not finished, and he deserved to be chewed out. “ if you came here to try and intimidate me or beat the shit out of me, go right a-fucking-head.” Trevor was venomous now, his body cooked tightly. “I’ve handled worse. You. Don’t. Fucking. Scare. Me.”

And Mickey believed him on both counts. However he felt about Trevor, he was one tough dude. Being a gay trans man from the yards was not a walk in the park. The fact that he had not only survived but turned his life in to one full of compassion and empathy was a testament to his character, as much as it pained Mickey to admit. Trevor had stopped talking and seemed to be waiting for Mickey to make the next move.

Mickey tried like hell to relax his posture and loosen up his features before speaking. “I’m not trying to scare you man,” he insisted with the softest, most sincere tone he could muster. “I came to... I just wanted to- I mean…” Fuckin' hell. So much for the rehearsals. He was stuttering like an idiot.

“To what?” Trevor harshly interrupted him, igniting a fire in the pit of Mickey’s stomach.

“To fuckin apologize okay??” Mickey barked and felt instant relief as the words finally came out, like the moment when you finally dislodge the pop-corn kernel that’s been stuck between your teeth all day.

Trevor’s eyes widened in their sockets, except for his left one, which widened only as far as the swelling would let it.

“I came to say I’m sorry, goddammit…” Mickey repeated, more carefully this time, his focus trained on the smaller man, gauging his reaction.

Trevor stared back at him incredulously. “Did Ian put you up to this?” He questioned without hesitation. “Sent you here to wave the white flag and hoped I’d forgive and forget like I always do… god that is so fuckin typically Ian…” Trevor muttered the last part to himself, as if he momentarily forgot that he was speaking to the aforementioned man’s husband.

Mickey had to ball both of his firsts tightly at his sides, ignoring the shooting pain in his bandaged hand, in order to tighten the reigns on his temper, which threatened to break loose any minute. “What? No! Jesus Christ Trevor, Ian doesn’t even know I came here today!” He exclaimed testily. “He’s my partner, not my fuckin keeper.”

“Well excuuuse me,” Trevor scoffed, rolling his eyes despite the fact that it clearly pained him. “I’m having a tough fuckin time believing that Mickey Milkovich- the guy who decked me in front of an entire club last night- came down here specifically to apologized.”

“Believe it.” Mickey bit back, trying to forget that the true motive for the apology was more selfish than unselfish. In order to do so, he allowed himself to ramble. “I’m sorry alright, Trevor? I’m sorry for treating you like shit. I’m sorry for busting your face. I’m sorry for being a drunk hot-blooded prick. And I’m so so fucking sorry for saying all of that disgusting phobic shit to you.” Mickey realized he was shaking like a chihuahua, and his face was beet red, but it felt amazing to be straightforward with the man.

Trevor’s lips were parted slightly, and his eyebrows hooded over his eyes. He looked dumbfounded at Mickey’s unconventional apology, like his mind went completely blank the moment the conversation took an unexpected turn. “Okay…” he finally said, so quietly that Mickey wasn’t entirely sure it was not just his imagination.

“Okay?” Mickey responded, mimicking his voice, angling in towards Trevor like an animal handler, careful not to move too much or breath too loudly lest he get spooked.

Trevor sighed loudly, bowing his head and running his thin fingers through his abundant brown locks, causing them to stick up even more wildly than they had been previously. Mickey could literally see the wheels turning in his head, trying to figure out what he should say, what he should do.

“Well… fuck Mickey. What am I supposed to say?” Trevor finally gasped, exasperated. “I forgive you I guess…”

“You guess?” Mickey wasn’t sure but he felt like he was pushing his luck.

Trevor nailed him with a deadpan expression. “Yes. I guess.” Then his facial expression began to cave under the weight of something that was clearly bothering him. Trevor gripped the back of his own neck and began massaging frantically. “Listen… I wanna apologize too.”

Mickey quirked an eyebrow. Did he just hear that correctly? “Apolog- for what?” He spat, without having time to check his tone.

“I was drunk and fuckin stupid.” Trevor lamented, motioning for Mickey to take one of the creaky chairs that sat in front of his desk, which he grudgingly did, despite the fact that it felt a bit like willingly giving up the upper hand. Trevor let his eyes fall to his desktop once Mickey was level with him. Despite the thug’s unimpressive stature, Mickey more than made up for his height with his other features. He was barrel chested and solid, and his arms and hands were strong and weathered from years of hardship. Trevor swore his icy blue eyes could strike fear into the heart of any man he directed them toward. Right now, those eyes were watching him intently, clearly confused by the path this conversation was heading down. “I also said some shit I should not have. I don’t even know what I was thinking! What idiot propositions their ex-boyfriends HUSBAND for a fucking foursome? Even Luke was pissed when I told him what I said to you. I was just drunk… and horny… and I’m sorry.”

Mickey refused to let it show on his face, but he was a little shaken up that this interaction was going so well. Even in his wildest fantasy he had never entertained the possibility that Trevor would be apologizing to him. His first instinct was to play it up and be dramatic, which he would have been excellent at. He decided to shrug his shoulders nonchalantly instead.

“Hey man... we can go back and forth all day talking about who fucked up more. The point is we’re both idiots. I know I said I wasn’t doing this because Ian made me but, I’m still kinda doin’ it for him.” Mickey fidgeted with the pack of smokes in his jacket pocket and kept his eyes trained on Trevor despite the man’s averted gaze, feeling like if he broke his eyes away, he would lose his train of thought. “I don’t want to isolate him from his friends because he married an impulsive jag off who can’t control his own fucking feelings.”

Trevor finally looked at him, and the tiniest glimmer of a smirk threatened to break free from the corners of his lips. “How noble of you,” Mickey couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. “I’ve been trying to figure out for like 2 and half damn years why he… why i wasn’t…” Trevor’s voice faltered, and he broke eye contact once again, looking all at once to Mickey like a frail and injuries child.

Mickey didn’t need for him to finish the sentence. He understood. Why I wasn’t enough. He’d asked himself that so many times throughout the course of his lengthy, on again, off again relationship with the ginger spitfire named Ian Gallagher. Once when Ian took off for the army. Once when Ian shook his coked-out ass for a club full of elderly fuckwads. Once when Ian couldn’t even look at him in the eye through the glass barrier that separated him from Mickey’s holding cell. On the shoulder of the road, two feet from the Mexican border. In the cramped prison cell, facing the brick walls of his bunk. In the elevator of the courthouse after leaving the unsigned marriage certificate in their wake. It wasn’t until Ian popped the question on one knee that Mickey was 110% certain that he was enough. He couldn’t help but pity Trevor, who would never feel such satisfying closure.

“Ian is fucking complicated.” Mickey murmured, half to reassure Trevor, who looked like a beaten dog, hunched over across from him, and half to fill the awkward silence. “And stubborn. And looney as a goddamn Canadian dollar. It was never personal.” He wasn’t sure if that helped at all. Mickey’s bedside manner was dead in the water.

Trevor’s face screwed up into a painful looking smile and he barked a laugh. “Trust me, Mickey, I know. I was there for the entire “gay Jesus” fiasco, remember?”

Mickey slouched in the chair slightly, feeling second hand embarrassment creep into the color of his cheeks. “Ugh, how could I fucking forget, that shit was like a full out acid trip. Thank god he’s been stable and on the right medication for so long.” Mickey began to clue in to the fact that what was winding up to be a heated confrontation had slowly morphed into what felt more like shooting the shit with Ian’s ex-boyfriend. He knew he was in the perfect position to ask about the job, with Trevor’s expression looking the easiest and most open it had since he had marched into his office. The issue was he had no earthly clue how to bring it up naturally, in a way that wouldn’t make him look desperate or selfish, despite the reality that he was both.

As if to read his mind, Trevor broke the settling silence this time, catching Mickey off guard, “okay so I was thinking…” He paused again, gauging Mickey’s reaction with wary eyes.

Mickey chuckled at his timidity, “Well? Spit it out!”

When Trevor spoke again, his voice held a tad more confidence. “Right, so Luke brought to my attention that I may have offered you help with finding a job last night?”

Mickey nodded dryly. He was on the verge of getting what he wanted, it’s true. But it still felt too much like grovelling for help, kissing Trevor’s ass.

“Since you didn’t come here to finish me off, and we’ve both mutually decided we fucked up last night let’s just… put this stupid shit behind us, yeah?” Trevor reached a hand across the desk slowly, the proverbial olive branch waving teasingly in front of Mickey’s face. “And if you’re in the market for work, I think I have something that you were literally born for.”

Mickey actively ignored how ominous this sentence sounded, opting to grasp Trevor’s proffered hand firmly and shake.

“Thanks man,” Mickey mumbled, licking his lips and leaning forward in his seat expectantly. Not time to celebrate yet. Not until he knew what this job offer entailed, “so what have you got for me, hm?”

Once the handshake had broken, Trevor seemed to revert back to his old jovial self, opening his laptop swiftly and typing away once again. The only evidence of an altercation occurring in the first place was the bruising that littered his face. “As you know, I’m a counselor and mentor here at the Youth Center. And we put on a lot of different functions for our kids, as well as shit for the city whenever they ask. Ya know, shit they can bring the news crews too, really sell the image that they give a damn about less fortunate Queer street urchins like us.”

Mickey knew very little about the details of gay rights activism, but it didn’t surprise him that Chicago wanted a piece of the pie without having to put any of the work in. “Alright I follow you so far…” Mickey nodded. 

“And we always need security at the events because, as you know, the South side has no shortage of unrelenting homophobic pricks.” Trevor snorted. “We need to make sure the kids in our care are safe and that no terrorist shit goes down while we’re putting on the events. Now normally we just hire from local security companies, but that eats away at the budget like a motherfucker, especially since we’ve started having bigger events more often. So the other counselors and I have been talking about hiring some permanent security for the events. We already have a few promising candidates and… I guess I just wanted to know if you’d be interested in being one of them?” Trevor laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his office chair, eyeing up Mickey now with a bit more confidence.

Mickey ran a hand through his hair a few times, pretending to mull the offer over, in spite of the fact that his insides were tingling, and he was biting back a shit eating grin. “Well I have had a shitton of experience with being on security detail…” Mickey hummed and hawed, thinking back to when he was security at the Kash and Grab, and all of those times that he played the part of watchdog for Terry and his brothers when they were moving drugs or robbing houses. Even the job his P.O. had set him up with the last time he got out of the joint involved him chasing down and tackling petty shoplifters at Old Army. It was something he was good at; it required very little brain power to play guard dog. 

“Sounds like a yes to me then,” Trevor shrugged, “In that case I’m gonna set you up with interviews with the other two head councillors Jane and Corra. Pretty informal interviews, just so they can get to know you a bit. And I’ll just need the most up to date version of your resume so we can put you in the system and keep track of-” He stopped talking when he noticed the brief look of terror that flashed on Mickey’s face. “What?” 

Mickey literally wanted to dig a hole and bury himself. Fuck, this is humiliating, he thought. “The issue is I’ve… never really had a resume to begin with.” Mickey muttered, shifting uncomfortably in the hardwood chair. He watched Trevor struggle to keep his features judgement free, which only made his guts more unsettled. “I’ve worked for my pop’s since I was about 9, and every ‘job’ after that was either assigned by my P.O.’s or something under the table that didn’t exactly give a shit if I was an upstanding citizen with my life in order.” 

Trevor blinked at this admission. “You mean-” 

Mickey took the words out of his mouth, snarling defensively at the man “Yeah, I get it, I’m almost twenty-fucking-five and I’ve never technically had a real job that I got by myself with a real resume. I’m a fuck up.”

When Mickey finally cast his eye back up to look at Trevor, he was a little put off by the soft compassionate look the counselor was giving him. “Mickey. You’re not fucked up. Your life was.” He spoke in a soft soothing tone, clearly practiced and precise. 

Mickey snorted back a laugh. “What, is that a line you feed your crack-head kids man? Save that shit for them. I don’t need to be fucking babied.” 

Trevor sighed deeply and raised both hands up in surrender. “Fine. I won’t counsel you. But I am going to help you work this out. I think you’d do a kick-ass job for us, with or without a resume.” He smiled brightly at the thug, making Mickey paranoid. Even though he was getting exactly what he came for, he was suspicious of anybody who could take a punch and turn the other cheek so quickly, like nothing had happened. He was accustomed to those around him holding grudges and sleeping with one eye open as a result. 

Mickey knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he just couldn’t stop himself from questioning the generosity. “Why are you willing to do all this for me huh?” He asked incredulously, hunching forward and pressing his elbows to his knees. 

“Good question,” Trevor responded honestly, riffling around in his dress drawers until his hand landed on a notepad and pen. Mickey watched him begin to scribble something down. 

When no more explanation came from the man, Mickey sniffed and dropped his head low, scratching his own arm to give his fingers something to do. “I’ll take the job.” He glanced up at Trevor sparingly.

When Mickey glanced up he saw Trevor had stood from his seat, and was leaning over his desk, hand outstretched across the table, holding onto the folded note he had been working away at moments ago. Mickey took the offered note from between Trevor’s fingers. “That’s got my phone number, email and a couple other things you’ll need to know for your interviews. Text me later and we can work out the details.” 

Mickey quickly stashed the note in his back pocket. “Thanks man…” He blurted. 

“Don’t mention it, dude.” Trevor flashed a smile and sat back down in his chair. “Now, I hate to cut this sweet little make up session short, but my 3 o’clock is gonna be here any minute.”

Mickey took his cue, rising swiftly from the chair, feeling a little lightheaded from the bittersweet victory he had just won. After everything, he was even less clear about his feelings for Trevor, moving from contempt and jealousy to something just short of… gratitude? Whatever it was it made Mickey’s insides feel fuckin squirmy. “I guess I’ll see you around?” Mickey managed to say as he turned to make the short trip from his chair to the door, hands balled tightly in the pockets of his jacket. 

Just as the toe of his boot reached the threshold and his fingers were wrapped around the doorknob he was stopped in his tracks by Trevor's voice. “Mickey?” The thug barely turned his face look at the man, and from what he could see out of the corner of his eye, Trevor’s gaze was trained back on his laptop screen.

“Yeah?” Mickey grunted.

“You said you came here to apologize because you owe it to Ian?” Trevor’s voice was even and controlled, both a question and a statement. “Maybe that’s why I offered you the job. For Ian.” It was a simple sentence, but it held a lot of weight, and all at once Mickey remembered why exactly he found Trevor so threatening. Clenching his jaw, Mickey decided against responding, twisting the door open instead and stepping out into the hallway. 

Finally, mercifully, Mickey released the air that had been wedged in his lungs during the entire exchange and smiled to himself, genuinely for the first time since leaving his husband and son back in his apartment. He indulged himself in a brief and silent victory celebration once he had moved far enough away from the door to be out of Trevor’s line of sight, pumping his fist in the air like a fucking preteen at a basketball game. 

“Fuck YES!” Mickey mouthed to himself over and over, just as Trevor’s 3 o’clock came around the corner, a sketchy looking teenage boy, who stopped abruptly and stared when he saw Mickey. 

Coughing and cutting his antics short, Mickey instinctively puffed his chest and began sauntering down the hall, casting his intimidating gaze at the disgruntled teen. “The fuck you lookin' at tweaker?” He growled at the kid, who kept on moving, unwilling to engage with Mickey any further. “That’s what I thought,” Mickey murmured as the boy hurriedly disappeared into Trevor’s office. 

Exiting the Youth Center, Mickey felt like a new man. Time to head home to my boys, he thought proudly, reaching for the phone in his pocket. His screen lit up with two texts from Ian, which had been sent only moments before, and Mickey felt that signature warmth crawls up through his stomach and into his chest. 

**_Hey tough guy_** , the first grey bubble read, follow by, **_got invited to Lip’s, Yev’s having the time of his life w/ Franny, Freddie, Amy and Gemma! Come by when ur done with ur shit <3 _**

Mickey snickered at the inclusion heart emoji, the pink one with the little gold sparkles. Mickey had once commented that it was the fruitiest of all the emojis, leading Ian to use it at every available opportunity, just to spite him. 

**_OMW :)_** , Mickey typed quickly, not wasting any time to type up something longer, and set out walking down the snow crowded sidewalk in the direction of the Yards, feeling suspiciously at home on the familiar Southside streets. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are mostly fluff with come cute Yevy moments + fun with the Gallagher clan!


	6. The Annual Gallagher Lawn Chair Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Yevgeny have some fun, and the Gallagher siblings catch up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly just fluff, because I want Yevgeny to be happy and play with his cousins!

Not even fifteen minutes after Mickey had left the apartment, Ian felt his phone buzzing rapidly in his back pocket, trapped between Jean material and the couch cushion.

“Jesus Christ, Mick,” Ian scoffed under his breath, assuming that his husband had forgotten something and was calling to complain about it. He had to wriggle around a bit and lift Yevgeny’s legs off his lap, but he eventually freed the phone. When he glanced at who was calling, he was pleasantly surprised to see Lip’s name scrolling across the screen instead of “Mick” and that pink heart emoji that Ian loved to bug him with. 

Ian accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear, as Yevgeny settled back down, continuing to mindless watch his show and cuddle his ratty blue blanket. “Hey man!” He greeted Lip emphatically. It had been about two weeks since the brothers had spoken, consumed as they were by their own busy adult lives. 

“Hey, what’s up dude?!” Lip’s voice was cheerful. Ian could hear the faint sounds of children having the time of their lives in the background, squealing and playing. 

“Sounds like you got an entire daycare with ya there?” Ian chuckled. 

“Yeah dude, this place is bedlam right now. Debbie brought Franny over and Kev and V brought the twins so you can imagine the shitshow that's going down over here- hey, hey! Girls you cannot pick Freddie up like that! You’re gonna crack his head open and then we’re gonna have to pay extra for him to ride the short bus to school! You want a brain-dead cousin? That’s what I thought...” Lip had clearly pulled the phone away from his mouth for the last part of the sentence as he chastised the children, leaving Ian in hysterics over his older brother's unique style of parenting. He was laughing so hard, clutching his stomach, that Yevgeny glanced over at him with a concerned look painted on his little face. Ian patted the little boy's leg silently, assuring him that he was fine, and Yevgeny once again returned to his show. 

“Sorry about that,” Lip returned his attention to Ian, “anyway, you got plans today?”

Ian had managed to calm himself for long enough to give a coherent response, wiping away the tears of amusement that were beading on his lids. “It’s Yev’s week with us actually!” The redhead explained, leaning his elbow onto the armrest to more comfortably prop the phone between his palm and his cheek, “Mick had to go… take care of something, so Yev and I are just hangin out, watching TV. Thought maybe we’d go out and roll around in the snow a bit later.” Yevgeny tousled with his blankie excited, rolling on the couch cushion and daydreaming about the fun they would have at the mention of the fresh snow. 

“Oh shit, that’s perfect!” Lip exclaimed, over Tami’s voice, which was a little shrill in the background as she scolded the kids for being so rough with Freddie, “I was just gonna ask if you and Mick wanted to come chill with the grown ups for old times sake, but it’ll be even better if you bring the little squirt along! I’m sure the girls would be pumped to see him And I’m sure Freddie would appreciate some back up to fend off these crazy girls,”

“That sounds great! Let me ask Yev,” Ian pulled the phone away from his ear to check with the boy, although he was pretty positive that the answer would be a resounding yes. Yev was a social kid and loved any opportunity to get attention from his insane extended family. 

“Yevy?” Ian addressed the six-year-old who was sucking his thumb and clutching his blankie up to his chin. “Yevgeny, get your thumb outta your mouth, papa and I talked to you about that, messes up your teeth!” 

Yevgeny let go of his thumb with a pop and looked bashfully at Ian, “Sorry daddy…” He tried to pout apologetically but his giggles gave him away. 

Ian rolled his eyes with a grin, “Whatever you say kid… listen, do you wanna go over to Uncle Lip’s today and play with Franny, Amy, Gemma and Freddie?”

Yevgeny’s eyes widened and his large smile was priceless, “Yes! Yes please!” He howled, lunging excitedly across the couch and onto Ian's chest, driving the air from his lungs, causing the red head to gasp in pain.

“Jeez, Yevy!” Ian wheezed, desperately trying to catch his breath, as he brought the phone back up to his ear, “That was a big yes from Yev, so we’ll get ready and be over in a little while. 

“Hey that’s great!” Lip sounded almost as jazzed at Yevgeny to hear the news, “When you get here just head straight out back, we’re just sitting around watching the kids eat shit in the snow.”

“Okay awesome, see ya soon!” After saying their goodbyes, Ian shoved his phone back in his pocket and pretended to ignore the squirming little boy plastered against his chest, before shouting a battle cry and flipping Yevgeny onto his back, before beginning to tickle him senseless. Yevgeny emitted a few high-pitched shrieks amidst a fit of giggles, his face red and scrunched up as he fought back frantically. Ian only stopped the attack when he felt Yevgeny’s little fingers gouging into his arms and the boy's breath coming in hitched gasps.

“Daddy! Enough, enough!” It was hard to take the little boy seriously with all of the laughter that escaped him as he pleaded for mercy. 

“Alright, alright!” Ian finally relented, hooking his large hands under Yevgeny’s armpits and hauling him up as he rose from the couch. Bowing forward, Ian let the boy wrap his slight arms around his neck and twist around, supporting Yevgeny with his forearms as he hoisted his wiry frame up onto the red head’s back. 

“C’mon, we’ll go get ready to play at Uncle Lip’s!” Ian cheered once Yevgeny had settled himself against his dad’s back, taking a moment to snatch Yevgeny’s blanket off of the couch before setting off at a brisk gallop, slaloming around furniture, heading for Yevgeny’s room. “Yevy do you know if mama packed your snow pants?”

“Hmmmm…” Ian felt the little boy hum close to his ear, considering the question “I think so!” He declared. 

“Let’s go find them!” Ian exclaimed as he slid around the corner and down the hall, the sound of Yevgeny’s enthusiastic squawks trailing behind them.

Once Ian and Yevgeny got off at the bus stop, it only took a short walk down a few side streets to reach Lip’s place. Ian kept a tight grip on Yevgeny’s little hand, refusing to let go even when the hyperactive boy tried to wiggle his fingers out of the man’s grasp.

“Daddy you’re hurting my hand,” Yevgeny complained at one point. Ian relented his death grip, but not much.

“Sorry Yev, but you gotta stay close to me okay?” Ian instructed.

Yevgeny nodded, a serious look taking over his baby face, and yet he continued holding his dad’s hand, making Ian feel eternally grateful that Yevgeny was such a good kid.

It was not that Ian was afraid to be on the Southside, on the contrary the fist fighting neighbors, barking dogs and general public chaos they witnessed as they passed by made the man feel right at home. But he had to be wary, especially with Yevgeny’s wellbeing resting solely on his shoulders for the time being. There was something about being a parent and being responsible for another life that was different than just looking out for your siblings; it made you prepare for the worst possible situation to occur in the drop of a hat.

Ian knew Yevgeny paid no mind to the antics of the Southside, after all he had spent the first few years of his life growing up in the Milkovich homestead and then briefly living with Kevin and Veronica. It pained Ian to think that this bubbly effervescent six-year old’s life had been irreversibly tainted by the choices of the adults around him. Who was he kidding, Mickey and Ian were just kids themselves when Yevgeny burst into their lives. They had been selfish at times, dangerous and toxic, for one another and for Vevy. It would have been so easy to blame it all on Mickey and Svetlana’s fuck ups, but Ian knew he was just as culpable for feeding the chaos during those first few years, treating the kid to the full Gallagher show. 

Ian took a shaky breath and squeezed Yevgeny’s hand gently as he watched the six-year-old clumsily waddle through the snow, bogged down by the weight of his down-filled snow pants. Making an earnest effort to push the negativity out of his brain entirely, Ian reminded himself of how far they had come. By other’s standards Ian was sure he and Mickey had not moved very far up the totem pole but considering the families they had started from; well Ian felt a goddamn success story.

They had a home. It was small and cramped and the roof leaked when it rained, but it was theirs, devoid of unsavory memories or traumatic pasts. Ian had a job- no, a career- that he absolutely adored, even on the hard days. For once both he and Mickey were on the right side of the law- and planned to keep it that way. All they could do now was stay the course and repay Yevgeny for their fuck ups by loving and cherishing him for the rest of their lives.

Speaking of Yevgeny, Ian noticed that the boy was tugging roughly on his hand, surging forward through the snow, picking up speed and urgency as Lip and Tami’s little bungalow came into view, fenced in by other small homes. Ian had passed by the house a million times growing up, and it had always looked like a crack den or meth lab to him; in fact, according to the previous tenants, it had served as both in times gone by. Ian completely understood why Tammi had been so unbelievably pissed at Lip for signing the papers for it without her knowledge, that old house had certainly been a piece of work.

However, the current Gallagher-Tamietti homestead looked nothing like it did when they had first gotten a hold of it a mere year and half ago. Ian had to admit, his brother had done a fantastic job of gutting and restoring the home to a place Lip could be proud to raise Freddie in, especially considering the budget they had been working from for the renovations. Now the little house had actual goddamn curtains in the windows instead of stained blankets nailed into the frames and a relatively tidy front yard, a part from a few of Freddie’s bigger toys, devoid of the oil drums and rusting car batteries that had once between in their place.

As Ian and Yevgeny approached the property and started up the short driveway where Lip’s old beater was parked, the red head could feel his son vibrating with eagerness, ready to play with his cousins and tired of the anticipation. By the time the two reached the back gate that led into Lip’s tiny backyard, Yevgeny was literally jumping, the hood of his snow jacket flopping down over his eyes every time he hit the ground.

Ian sighed in mock exasperation and finally let go of the six-year-old’s hand. Yevgeny shot him a skeptical yet hopeful look, and red head gestured towards the gate, which had clearly been left open just a crack in anticipation of their arrival. “Go on buddy, your cousins are waiting!” Ian encouraged the boy. Yevgeny needed no further instruction, bolting ahead of Ian towards the gate, his hood slipping back off of his head due to his sudden speed, leaving only his winter hat pulled down over his ears. Watching the boy shove the gate open wide enough for him to slip his tiny body through the gap, Ian hurried a little to catch up, pushing the gate open wider to accommodate his own body.

Upon entering the backyard, Ian watched with an amused smile as Yevgeny stumbled across the snow, rapidly approaching the little pale skinned red headed little girl, only about a year his younger, all decked out in her bright pink snow gear. Franny was molding a little lump in the snow- the base of her snow fort- when Yevgeny crashed into her, taking her off her feet and into the deep snow behind them, knocking off her hat in the process. 

“Easy Yev! Don’t break her,” Ian hollered with a wince. Much like Mickey, the little Milkovich didn’t know his own strength and didn’t care to. Ian melted from the inside out as he watched Franny recognize Yevgeny once she got her bearings from being unexpectedly forced to the snowy ground. 

“Yevy!” She shrieked loudly and hugged into the boy. “Mommy said you were gonna come to play!” 

Yevgeny was already picking himself off of the ground, “Yeah my dad brought me!” He announced proudly, pointed in Ian’s direction. Franny looked over at him, trying to shake the snow from her body as she stood up. 

“Hi Uncle Ian!” Franny screamed over to him, waving her arm in the air like a maniac. Ian snickered and waved back fondly at his niece. She was so much like Debbie that sometimes Ian had the strangest sense of Deja Vu. 

“Where’s Gem and Amy?” Yevgeny questioned his cousin, looking around in bewilderment! 

“Right here!” Came two voices in unison from behind a particularly large wall of snow. Ian watched as two little dark-skinned girls popped their heads up over the bank, both giggling and grinning wildly. As they began clambering onto of the snow bank to reach Yevgeny, their sparkly snow boots making deep divots in the snow, Ian was not at all surprised to see Kevin’s head appear from behind the snow as well, from where he had been curling his massive body into the girl’s hiding place. 

“Hey man!” Kevin yelled the greeting to the redhead, as his squealing daughters rushed Yevgeny and Franny, all four children landing in a wriggling pile in the snow. 

“Hi Kev!” Ian returned the greeting, increasing the volume of his voice to be heard over the squeaking and tittering of the heap of children between them. 

“Guys! Ian’s here!” Kevin announced to an unseen audience, as Ian finally made his way around to the back of the house. He sized up Lip’s back deck, something his brother had added on to their rent to own home shortly after moving in. A thick sheet of snow still covered the surface of the deck, and Ian saw that there were six ratty lawn chairs set up in a half circle, legs buried into the snow. Four of the six of the chairs were occupied by Debbie, Lip, Tami and Veronica who had been lounging and chatting before Kevin had made Ian’s presence known to the group. 

“Ian!” They all chorused together, as the red head ascended the squat steps to meet them. Lip patted the empty lawn chair between him and Debbie, indicating that he had saved the spot for his brother. 

“Thanks for inviting me to the annual Gallagher lawn chair party,” Ian quipped as he leaned in to peck Debbie on the cheek affectionately. “Hi Debs,” he said softly to her. 

“Hey,” she replied with a warm smile. 

“Lawn Chairs are a year-round staple, and you won’t change my mind,” Lip shot back with the cheeky smile he usually sported.

“It’s true,” Tami interjected, bouncing Freddie on one knee, the toddler so bundled up against the cold it looked like he could hardly move on his own, “believe me I’ve fuckin tried.” She nodded pleasantly at Ian, who returned the gesture and winked playfully at his nephew as he lowered himself into his lawn chair, feeling the old thing creak dangerously under his weight. 

“It’s a damn miracle these things are even holding us,” Veronica muttered, “Mine literally has duct tape holding the legs together.”

“You’d think that a guy who literally teaches a course about how to repair bikes would do a better job of putting broken lawn chair chairs back together,” Debbie teased, getting in on the fun. Lip had begun teaching a few mechanics courses at the learning annex a few months previously supplement the income he was getting from the bike shop.

“If you guys are gonna keep insulting my shit you can leave,” Lip snorted half hardheartedly.

Debbie chuckled and apparently decided to take pity on Lip, turning her attention to her other older brother instead. “So how are things Ian? Been saving a lot of lives lately?”

Ian reached out to squeeze Debbie’s knee, “More or less Debs,” he chuckled. “Things are good but busy as usual. This is the first weekend I’ve had off in a while actually. And perfect timing apparently because Mick and I got the dates mixed up and Svetlana dropped the rug rat off at our doorstep this morning with a week’s worth of clothes.”

“How is Lana?” Veronica asked, keeping her voice as even as possible. Ian sometimes forgot about the history she had with Mickey’s baby mama.

“She’s fine I guess,” Ian shrugged, “She’s knocked up again, got some more Brad and Angelina wannabes breathing down her neck for a little Russian baby apparently. Hard to judge her though, she makes more dough from the set up than all of us combined.”

“And she only has to work once a fuckin year,” Lip added, causing he and Ian to burst into laughter, much to the annoyance of the women that surrounded them. They all understood something that the brothers did not.

“Uh… no,” Tami scoffed, “she works nine months out of the year, idiots,” Freddie seemed to be whimpering in her arms, causing the mom to zip open her coat, and deftly shoved her shirt down, allowing the baby access to his meal. “I don’t know how that poor woman even deals with putting her body through that shit year after year.” Veronica and Debbie were nodding along with her words.

“You wouldn’t be asking yourself that if you could see the place she lives in. Or the car she drives. Or the clothes she wears.” Ian smirked, folding his arms over his chest, trying to warm his fingers in his armpits.

“I bet that riles Mickey up like crazy,” Debbie mused aloud.

Ian nodded and tired to hide his amusement at the statement. “What doesn’t rile Mickey up Debs?” He countered, and the five adults all shared a knowing chuckle.

They settled into comfortable silence for a moment, all turning to watch the children play, amused as they watched their incredible offspring joining forces and ganging up against Kevin, who was desperately trying to defend himself from the snowballs that he was being pelted with, roaring and swinging his arms around wildly to combat them. Ian watched as Yevgeny zipped around with Amy in tow, launching snowballs into the air with so much effort his face was turning red. The children paid no mind to the adults, other than Kevin of course who may as well have been one of them for all they were concerned, too caught up in their own games to be present in the real world.

“Yevy’s getting so big Ian,” Debbie grinned, turning her attention to the fellow redhead. “Franny can hardly keep up; she’s worried about not being as big as the other kids when she goes into first grade next year.”

“Gemma and Amy were all anxious about that too, but they were fine, other kids don’t notice that shit,” Veronica offered reassuringly to the young mother, observing her twin girls tackling a giggling Yevgeny to the ground as they turned their snowball attack to the little boy. “Look at them, they keep up with Yev just fine.”

Ian felt the lawn chair creak some more as he repositioned himself, “Yev’s a great kid, but he has so much fuckin energy, Mickey and I don’t know what to do with him half the time. He sure is fun to be around thought!” “He looks so much like Mickey it’s a little bit terrifying,” Debbie declared after a thoughtful pause. Ian agreed with her wholeheartedly. Yevgeny certainly had borrowed some of his features from Svetlana, such as her high Slavic cheekbones, dirty blonde hair, and skinny lanky limbs that foretold a height advantage over his father. However, everything else was pure, unadulterated Mickey Milkovich, from the pale skin to the icy blue eyes, to the mischievous arch of his eyebrows.

“It’s the same with Franny,” Ian gestured to the little girl that was gleefully packing snowballs in between her tiny mittens, providing ammunition for Yevgeny and the twins, “She’s the spitting image of you Debs!”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” Debbie conceded, stretching her legs out in front of her, digging the heels of her boots deeper into the snow, “Liam was rummaging through some old boxes the other day and found some old photos in the stuff Fiona left behind. Found one of me and asked me when I took that cute picture of Franny.” Debbie jabbed her thumb in the direction of the house behind them. “Actually, I brought some of the one’s he found that Fiona took when we were babies. We can look at them later if you want.” She suggested to her older brother’s, who both grimaced at the thought of what embarrassing contents await them within each photograph. 

“Yeah sure Debs,” Lip nodded passively, “Speaking of Liam, how come he didn’t grace us with his presence today?” Ian had much the same question on his mind. He would never admit it out loud, but he sorely missed the times when he and his siblings were all together, as rare and as fleeting as they were. As much of a nightmare as the Gallagher house was back in the golden days, there was no shortage of love between the walls, and Ian thought the phrase “you don’t know what you have until it’s gone” was a little too on the nose.

“Fuck if I know, last thing he said to me last night was that he was ‘sleeping at a friends house’, and was gone before I could ask anymore questions” Debbie sighed, which caused a little spike of worry to wedge it’s way into Ian’s stomach. He shared a sideways glance with Lip, who had the same unsettled look on his face. Tami and Veronica seemed unbothered by the discussion, as they were caught up in their own conversation about breast milk or some shit Ian didn’t care to hear about. 

“Debs you gotta keep a closer eye on him,” Ian spoke up, hating to sound like he was lecturing. Sometimes Debbie needed it, she may have been a mother, but this was her first time pseudo-raising a 12-year-old and as she often liked to say, she was no Fiona. Ian snorted at the thought. None of them were. 

“Does he have his phone on him?” Lip questioned, leaning forward and reaching for his pants pocket for his phone as if on reflex, getting ready to hunt down another missing Gallagher. 

“Of course he has his phone on his Lip,” Debbie scoffed and scrunched up her nose as she often did when she felt like she was being backed into a corner by her brothers, “Holy fuck guys, I’m sure he’s fine! Do you remember the shit we used to get into when we were twelve? We turned out just fine. We didn’t even have fucking cellphones. Liam probably just went out to track down Frank or something like he usually does.”

Ian watched Lip’s hand slowly move away from the pocket as he settled back down, taking Debbie’s words in stride. “Right and that’s supposed to make us feel better?” Lip scoffed a little, but Ian could see that he had decided to drop the interrogation- for now, at any rate. “I never thought I’d see the day when fuckin Carl was the only one of you I didn’t worry about- at least I know where he is and if he’s alive or dead. And he calls or texts at least once a week.”

Ian smiled warmly at the thought of Carl, working his ass off at the police academy. They hardly ever saw him anymore, but it was a small price to pay for him getting his life on track. The last time he and Ian had spoken, Carl had informed him that he was doing well with his training, passing every task with flying colors, (mostly) staying out of trouble, and that he had even been introduced to a new girl by some of his buddies. After a few minutes of grilling, Ian was more or less satisfied that the girl Carl was describing actually sounded sane and normal, which was the opposite of Carl’s usual profile. Not that Ian was one to talk about what a healthy relationship looks like. He and Mickey were trying to figure out that particular puzzle day by day, year by year.

Before the siblings could continue their conversation, Tami rose from her lawn chair, readjusting her clothes and hiking Fred up onto her hip after his long snack. She sidestepped the chair and placed a hand on Lip’s shoulder to pull his attention away from his brother and sister.

“I’m gonna go put Freddie down for a nap and then get started on dinner,” she informed her boyfriend, lifting Fred from her hip and dangling him over him over his father’s head.

Veronica had stood from her seat as well and was poised beside Tami. “I’m gonna go help her!” She exclaimed, patting Tammi on the back. Tammi and Veronica had become something of good friends lately, something Ian had not quite seen coming.

“Alright sounds good,” Lip nodded to them and then craned his neck back and looked up at the toddler who hovered above him in his mother's arms, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out, leading the chubby toddler to burst into a contagious giggling fit. Ian found that his cheeks hurt a bit from smiling so widely as he watched his older brother. “Have a good nap little man,” Lip cooed warmly, stretching up in his chair to kiss Freddie’s chubby cheek with a warm smack. Freddie responded with a gurgle and a thunderous “Da!” 

Tami looked at Lip and Freddie with love in her eyes as they interacted before settling Freddie back on her hip and turning her gaze towards Ian and Debbie. “You guys good with spaghetti?” She asked, clearly making the assumption that the whole gang was staying for supper; a fair assumption when the Gallagher’s were involved, “I’m making the meatballs from scratch this time.” Ian knew this was an enticing statement- Tami’s family was very Italian and her meatballs were next level.

Debbie answered before Ian could. “Hell yeah! Any food that I don’t have to make myself is fine with me!”

“Great,” Responded Tami and then shifted to speak to Ian, “How about you Ian? Yev likes spaghetti, right?” Of course, Yevgeny liked spaghetti- much like his father, the little boy had never met a food item he wouldn’t eat or didn’t like. Ian used to think Mickey and his brothers were always so ravenous because they grew up living in a house where food was not always a guarantee but based on his experiences with Yevgeny, he was becoming more and more sure that it was genetic.

Ian faltered for a minute before answering, realizing that he hadn’t communicated to his husband where he had taken Yevgeny. Gone were the days where such information was on a need to know basis, and they could go and come back into one another's lives without much explanation. They had a little human to look out for now.

“Yeah Tami, we love your spaghetti, but I just have to-” Ian began, but was cut off almost immediately by Tammi.

“Text Mickey to get his ass over here,” She laughed, “the more the merrier, right babe?”

“You know it,” Lip snorted, smirking at Ian.

“Good idea, Mick would be pissed if he missed those meatballs” Ian winked at Tami and pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. He found his last text conversation with Mickey, which took a bit of scrolling. He and Mickey used to text one another non-stop back in the day, but there was no need for frequent text conversations now that they saw each other at least once a day. Ian preferred to call anyway, but a quick text would do for now. 

“Let’s go V, we’re gonna need like two entire crock pots to make enough,” Tami and Veronica turned and headed for the back door of the house, entering directly from the back deck to the kitchen, dragging some snow in with them as they went.

Ian quickly composed the message and sent it, before realizing that he hadn’t mentioned anything about staying for supper. He was about to send off another text when he decided it was not important, and Mickey probably wouldn’t care anyway. Truth be told, he knew Mickey had come to really appreciate the hectic warmth of the Gallagher family over the years. The ex-con still did his best to pretend that his in-laws got on his last nerve every once and a while, and every once and a while, they certainly did. But Ian knew Mickey secretly relished the dynamic. It was what family was supposed to feel like, Ian supposed.

When Ian placed his phone between his thighs and tuned back into Lip and Debbie’s conversation, they were both having a good laugh at Kevin’s expense as the large man struggled in the snow, apparently having met his match with the four children who were making a game out of burying him in armfuls of snow.

“Get ‘em Yev! Don’t let ‘em escape!” Ian shouted across the yard in support of his little boy, who whipped his head around to look at the red-head and beamed at him as he giggled and shrieked along with his companions.

After watching the kids play for a few more minutes, Ian felt his phone vibrate between his legs. Reaching for it, he saw the screen light up with Mickey’s reply:

**OMW :)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluffiness next chapter + MICKEYYYY


	7. Idiots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey joins the lawn chair party and has an unexpected heart to heart with Yevgeny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really taking my time and enjoying writing these chapters, so I'm sorry if the pace is not very fast lol. I don't have a definite direction for the plotline mapped out, just a few plot points, so I'm just meandering and seeing what happens!
> 
> This chapter contains a lot of feels, so enter at your own risk!

Mickey knew that Ian was spot on about Yevgeny having the time of his life, because he could literally hear the little boy squealing and shouting from a block away as he approached the house. Normally the thug would have had a few reservations about spending a day with so many Gallagher’s; as much as he cared about the family, the chaos of personalities and kids running around had a special way of setting his nerves on edge. He felt differently now, though, and he was in such a good mood that all the snide comments that Lip could muster wouldn’t be able to snap him out of it. 

The job was as good as his. Mickey was elated and was allowing himself to feel proud for saving face and patching things up with Trevor in order to get what he was after. He had to admit, he was feeling a little like his old-con artist self, which was a part of him that would never truly go away, no matter how well his life was going. He had to remind himself that he was not scamming innocent people out of their money or stealing and selling their property to make a quick buck. This was not a quick buck at all; this was a job. Income. Something he and Ian needed to have to keep their apartment, to afford a car at some point, to take care of their son. 

Not to mention that Mickey would be goddamn good at the job. He had briefly noticed the number Trevor had scrawled on the piece of paper before folding it and handing it to him; how much Mickey would be paid per hour if he agreed to be security for the Youth Center. It certainly wasn’t a 401K and family health benefits, but it was more money than Mickey had made as security at the mall, that’s for sure. 

You did the right thing, Mickey told himself, patting his back pocket where the note from Trevor resided, and shuddered a bit at how stupid he felt for having to reassure himself. Since when had he grown a conscience? Mickey knew when. 

Mickey strode confidently up the driveway of Lip’s home, following the sounds of the children playing, which grew exponentially louder the closer he drew. Just as he was about to head for the front door, he noticed that the gate that led to the backyard was open slightly, swinging on its hinges as a crisp gust of wind blew past. Mickey knew that’s where he would find everyone, as so he took that path instead. 

As he rounded the corner of the house, he could see Yevgeny’s little body bouncing and running and tumbling along in the snow with Franny, the twins and- Kevin? Mickey quirked an eyebrow as he watched the guy amble around with the kids, covered from head to toe in a thick crust of snow. Kevin always ended up being the one who sacrificed himself to keep the kids entertained so the grownups could talk uninterrupted. 

Mickey heard Ian’s voice coming from the slightly elevated deck to his left, wrapped up in conversation, and although he could not see who was with him because of his position on the ground, he heard the voices of Debbie and Lip when he listened closer. Not that the Gallagher’s were ever a quiet bunch. To not disrupt Yevgeny’s fun, Mickey practically tiptoed around the front of the deck and up the steps, as quietly as the crunching snow beneath his feet would allow him. Yevgeny did not notice his arrival; if the little boy had seen his father all bets would have been off, and he would have stayed glued to his side for the rest of the evening. 

Ian, however, did notice Mickey’s arrival, and his eyes lit up at the sight of the thug climbing the steps. “Mick! Jesus that was fast, did you run here?” Ian questioned, secretly hoping Mickey would let it slip where he had been. It was apparently a contentious subject for Mickey, if their conversations from earlier that been any indication, and so the red head made a mental note to try and whittle him down later and get to the truth. 

As it was, Mickey just sniffed and shrugged coolly, “Nah, was just close by is all,” he answered cryptically, leaving Ian with more questions. Gesturing with his head towards where Yevgeny was playing, he drew attention to his son, who looked to be dangling from Kevin’s neck in a type of a severely modified headlock. “That little been beatin’ up on Kev that fuckin badly this whole time?” His tone was jovial as he addressed the three Gallagher siblings.

“Yep, he sure has,” Debbie nodded with a grin, “He’s a beast.”

Mickey grinned right back, just as widely. “Just like his pops,” he simpered.

“Gotta admit though, he’s much easier on the eyes than you are, Mick,” Lip sounded off snarkily, rising from his chair and moving over to the lawn chair Tami had been sitting in to allow Mickey to sit next to Ian. Despite the way Lip and Mickey bickered and bantered, it was those little gestures that showed Mickey that he had managed to earn the grudging respect and acceptance of the eldest Gallagher brother. Lip had always been fiercely of Ian, more so than Fiona at times, especially after Ian’s diagnosis. In fairness, Mickey had earned some skepticism over the years. But things were changing, slowly. 

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, _Phillip_ ,” Mickey replied without the usual malice in his voice, and threw a punch at Lip’s arm as he plopped himself down in the freshly vacant lawn chair, which the older Gallagher nearly toppled out his own chair to avoid. Mickey’s eyes widened when the chair barely held his weight, creaking and groaning suspiciously beneath him. “And what’s with the damn lawn chairs? There’s snow on the fuckin ground.” 

Lip threw his head back and sighed loudly, “Will you people get off my back about the goddamn lawn chairs?” Debbie chuckled behind her hand.

Mickey casually wrapped an arm around the back of Ian’s chair and turned to the read-head, arched eyebrows raised comically.

Ian shook his head and bit back a grin. “So how did your thing go?” He finally worked up to asking. Mickey seemed to be in high spirits, which was a positive sign. 

Mickey squeezed his husband’s shoulder tightly, “Fan-fucking-tastic.” He said truthfully, his mouth curled into a smile. Ian couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm, which made the response even more frustrating. He had no way of knowing how badly Mickey wanted to break down and tell him what he had accomplished that day. But it was not the right time or place; Mickey didn’t want to give Lip the opportunity to rile him up about ‘sucking up to Trevor’. So instead, he just looked Ian square in the eye and promised in a low voice, “I’ll tell ya everything later, okay?” 

Ian nodded in approval at the statement, forcing his mind to settle for the time being. “Oh shit, I forgot to tell you! We’re staying for supper! Tami’s making spaghetti and those homemade meatballs that you can’t get enough of.” 

Mickey was instantly a little pissed off at being ‘told’ and not ‘asked’ about staying for a traditional Gallagher family feast, but he stuffed the feeling down immediately, replacing it with the memory of how spectacular Tami’s meatballs were the last time he had gotten his hands on a plate of them. His mouth watered at the thought. It had been too long.

Turning his head to the side, Mickey glanced at Lip. “You got a table in there big enough for all of us, numbnuts?”

Lip clicked his tongue and answered playfully, “I guess it’ll have to be.” 

Before any more banter between the two men could ensue, Mickey heard his son's voice sail through the air and land like the crash of symbols on his ear drums. “PAPA! YOU’RE HERE!” As soon as Yevgeny had gazed over to the deck full of grown ups and made out the shape of his papa, he was howling and scampering over, leaving his cousins and Kevin in the dust. 

“I think you’ve been spotted, Mickey.” Debbie chuckled. 

Mickey and Ian watched in amusement as the six-year-old climbed arduously up the steps, his puffy snowsuit impeding his progress by limiting the flexibility of his limbs. By the time Yevgeny made his way over to his parents and up into Mickey’s lap, the little boy was panting from exertion. 

“See how fast I can run!?” Yevgeny asked, grasping the sides of Mickey’s face and pressing his freezing cold cheek up against the man’s own face. 

“You were like a freakin’ blur!” Mickey gasped in an exaggerated manner. “I didn’t even see you coming!” Yevgeny’s radiated pride at this statement, pulling away from Mickey’s face so that he could speak to Ian. “Daddy... Franny, Amy and Gemma wanted to know if we can stay for dinner?” the little boy asked timidly. 

Ian chuckled and shared a knowing look with his sister. They both knew very well that the kids had just spent the last ten minutes deciding amongst themselves who would have to go ask the grown ups to stay. 

“Lucky for you, kiddo, Aunt Tami already asked us to stay.” Ian watched as Yevgeny wiggled a little victory dance.

“Yay! I’ll go tell them!” Yevgeny appeared to hesitate as he was about to dismount his father’s lap. “Papa?” He twisted around to Mickey and motioned with his tiny gloved hand for the man to lean down. Mickey did so, and the little boy brought his hand and mouth up to his ear. “I gotta go peeeeee”. He hissed into Mickey’s ear, unable to regulate his little voice enough to whisper. 

The adults around the six-year old all held back laughter, including Mickey, who gave his son a quizzical look.

“Kid, you know where the bathroom is, you’ve been here before,” He attempted to chastise softly, removing his arm from around Ian so that he could gently push the boy the rest of the way off of his lap. “You don’t need me to help ya.” 

Yevgeny landed on his feet and swiveled around tucking his hands behind his back and biting his lip, looking bashfully up at Mickey. “But papa… I can’t… my snow-suit is too…” he didn’t finish, but Mickey knew what he was getting at. Yevgeny was scared of not being able to get his snowsuit off in time and having an accident. It had happened to him last year at school and the little boy had been about as mortified as a five-year-old has the capacity to be when Svetlana had come to pick him up. 

Mickey grumbled but took pity on the little boy, grasping his little gloved hand. “Alright kid, pull me up.” Yevgeny did as he was asked, planting his feet on the deck and hauling with all his might. Mickey stood without much actual help from his son, but making the boy believe that he had helped a great deal. 

“You got here just in time,” Ian chortled up at the thug.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go Yev,” Mickey tisked, placing a hand on the back of Yevgeny’s head, right where the wool of the winter hand ended and his sons’ soft dirty blond curls began, steering him around the lawn chairs and heading for the back door. 

“Never thought I’d live to see the day when Mickey would be taking orders from a child,” Lip mumbled, seeming entertained by the whole show. “That kids’ got him whipped,” 

“Just wait until Freddie starts to walk and talk man, you’ll get there.” Ian assured him, craning his neck slightly and trailing his son and husband as they disappeared into the house. 

  
  


After nodding a brief greeting to both Tami and Veronica and hanging his own coat on the only available hook near the door, Mickey ushered his son through the kitchen and dining room of the Gallagher-Tamietti home. He stopped in the living room to lift Yevgeny onto the back of Lip’s couch in order to rid him of the confining snow gear. He deftly yanked the snow boots off of Yevgeny’s feet, not bothering to undo the Velcro straps, and tossed the boots to the floor. Mickey didn’t really give a shit where they landed at the moment; Lip and Tami’s living room was cluttered with Freddie’s toys and clothes anyway, and he had a kid in front of him who was desperately wiggling to be set free of his snowsuit.

Next came the mitts and hat, which ended up somewhere on the floor beside the boots. Mickey’s fingers fumbled with the tiny zipper of the jacket, and if he was honest, Yevgeny was no help as Mickey tried to wrench his arms out of the sleeves, jittering as he was. 

“Papa hurry up!” Yevgeny whined, and could hear the desperation in his voice 

“I’m trying Yev, you gotta help me out a little! Arms up.” Mickey commanded, exasperated. 

Yevgeny flung his arms over his head and Mickey was able to haul the jacket off of him quickly, flinging it over the couch. Finally, the ex-con popped the clasps that kept Yevgeny’s snow pants up, grasped a pant leg in each hand and ripped the garment off of the little boy’s body, peeling the snow pants from around him so expeditiously that the kid almost went with them. 

Yevgeny looked at his father with wide eyes, but Mickey figured he would have loads of time to apologize for manhandling him after he made sure the kid didn’t leave a piss puddle on the head rest of the couch. The thug tossed the snow pants as he scooped Yevgeny up with one arm, wedging the little boy’s body under his armpit and made a break for the staircase. He took the steps two at a time, feeling Yevgeny’s entire body bobbing with each footfall, and his shrill voice squeaking to “ _hurry hurry hurry_ ”.

“Jesus kid, I’m hurrying!” Mickey panted, saying a silent prayer that the bumpy trip up the stairs would not shake Yevgeny too loose. 

Upon reaching the summit of the stairs and seeing the bathroom door in front of them, Mickey came in for the home stretch, jogging over to it and placing Yevgeny down on the tiled bathroom floor and stepping out immediately afterward, figuring that his son could take it from there as he usually did. On his way out, Mickey reached behind himself to snag the door handle and shut the door to give Yevgeny some sense of privacy. One thing the kid had was a lot of pride, and even when he asked for help, he never wanted any of his parents to make a big deal out of it. 

Mickey found himself waiting to hear the sound of the toilet seat clink and Yevgeny’s contented sigh before he relaxed, sliding his back down the wall beside the bathroom door until his ass made contact with the ground. Mickey let out a relieved breath and couldn’t help but chuckle at the whole thing.If someone had told him just a few years ago that he would be frantically football carrying his son into a bathroom, he would have accused them of taking one too many hits off the ol’ crack pipe. He was a thug, a gangbanger. Not parent of the year material. It was shocking how much had changed in so little time. 

When it had been quiet behind the bathroom door for just a little too long, Mickey decided he needed to check in. “Yev?” He called out. 

“Yeah?” Came his sons reply. 

“You fall in?” Mickey smirked at the notion. 

“No papa.” The little boy responded seriously after a few seconds. He sounded like he was concentrating. “I gotta do more than just pee!”

Mickey nodded to himself in recognition. “S’all good buddy. Do you want me to leave you alone? Or wait until you’re done?” 

“Will you wait?” Yevgeny asked with just a tad of timidity. 

“Of course,” Mickey responded without hesitation, settling himself in for a little longer of a wait than he had originally anticipated. 

Ever since Svetlana, in an baffling show of mercy, had reintroduced Yevgeny into Mickey’s life nearly two years ago the little boy couldn’t get enough of his father. After a few weeks of warming up to one another, Mickey had finally begun to understand what other people meant when they said they were head over heels for their kids. After about two months of spending as much time together as Svetlana would allow, Mickey had wondered how he and Ian had survived up until that point without the wonderful ball of happiness that was Yevgeny Milkovich in their lives. He had spent those early days dividing his time up between giving Yevgeny everything the little boy had been missing out on and hating himself with a passion for putting his son through what he had. 

As bright and outgoing as Yevgeny was, you did not have to search very deeply to uncover the damage that Mickey’s absence had done to the boy. Mickey could see it clearly from where he sat, waiting for the boy to use the bathroom and finish up. Yevgeny had days where clung to Mickey like life support. Like he would leave. Like he would disappear. It would look relatively normal to passive onlookers. But Mickey knew where it stemmed from, and the guilt was enough to knock him over sometimes. 

“Papa?” The ex-con heard Yevgeny pipe up. 

“I’m right here! You good in there?” Mickey replied. 

“Uh huh.” Yevgeny paused before continuing. “Can I ask you something?” 

Mickey raised an eyebrow instinctively. “Sure, little man, shoot,” he agreed, briefly amused by Yevgeny picking that exact moment to hold a conversation, with a door separating them. 

“Okay well um…” Yevgeny mumbled, clearly trying to find the words to express what he wanted to say. Mickey gave him a minute to gather his thoughts. “Andy Dillinger said that his dad said that… um… it isn’t okay for me to have a papa AND a daddy. He said he thinks it’s gross.” 

Mickey instantly felt the hot roiling of anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t even breath as Yevgeny continued. 

“He said I should only have a Mama and Papa and that Daddy should go away and not come back.” Mickey could hear a bit of emotion in his son’s voice, making his palms sweat and his throat drying out. “Daddy’s not gonna go, is he Papa?” Yevgeny asked, finally working up to his question. 

Mickey took a deep breath and whispered a quiet “son of a bitch” under his breath. He knew having this conversation with his son was inevitable, especially with the rich little pricks he knew were in Yevgeny’s class at the posh elementary school Svetlana had him attending. But he could not have predicted, in his wildest dreams, that it would occur in a moment like this, while he waited for Yev to finish his business. 

It took him a moment to consider what to say. Most of what the thug wanted to say came from a place of rage, words that Ian would remind him were not for little ears. His first instinct was to find out where the little asshole’s father lived and give him a taste of southside justice, preferably with a set of brass knuckles in each fist. Mickey suddenly wished he had picked up a parenting book or two at some point because there had to be a chapter on this shit that would have helped him out greatly. As it was, he felt like he was floundering. 

“Yevgeny,” Mickey stared out by saying the boys full name, which he knew would clue the kid into how serious he was being, “daddy is not leaving, no matter what kids at school tell you. He doesn’t have to and he’s never gonna… he loves you just as much as me and mama. You got that?” 

“Okay papa,” Yevgeny responded with a little more warmth in his tone than he previously had, which made some of the anger that boiled beneath his skin dissipate into pride. 

Mickey wasn’t done yet, and despite knowing he would catch hell from Ian, added devilishly, “You tell that kid that your papa says his dad is an… idiot.” He settled on a word that Yevgeny wouldn’t be penalized too harshly for repeating on school property.

“But Ms. Thomas makes us stay inside for recess if we call people names,” Yevgeny protested, and Mickey had to stop himself from rolling his eyes too far back in his head at his own kid. He could not fathom how it was possible that he had fathered such a goody-two-shoes. 

“Well you tell Ms. Thomas that I said it’s alright,” the thug countered, “and that some people deserve it. Jeez, do I need to write a note?” 

This last joke elicited a giggle from Yevgeny that made Mickey’s chest feel tight. After a few moments of silence, the man spoke up again. “Your ass going numb yet kid?” 

The end of the question was drowned out by the loud flush of the toilet and Yevgeny declaring “I’m done!!” 

“Sweet, wash your hands and get out here so you can play with your cousins some more before dinner! I hear we’re having spaghetti…” 

Mickey snickered as Yevgeny cheered, trying to shake the last of the anger out of his system before his son emerged from the bathroom. He heard the creak of the little boy stepping onto the step stool Tami kept under the sink for when the kids were over and the running of water for a few moments before it stopped. 

When Yevgeny opened the door up, Mickey waited for him to take a step out past the doorway before growling and snatching the boy, who let out a wild shriek that melted into bubbly laughter. Mickey dragged Yevgeny backwards onto his lap, and once the mutual laughter died down, the little boy twisted in his fathers grip so that he was straddling Mickey’s lap with his skinny kid legs. 

Mickey felt strange and vulnerable, propped up against the wall with this little wonder looking up at him with all the childlike innocence that Mickey never got to have. Like he could do no wrong. It was utterly terrifying to think that someday that wholesome illusion would be broken. This particular thought hit Mickey right in the gut. He was the furthest thing from a saint that a person could be. Someday Yevgeny would know everything. It seemed like that say was approaching faster than Mickey thought it would. 

He decided he owed the beautiful blue-eyed child that sat in front of him a real explanation, instead of glossing over the difficult topic, or pretending it didn’t exist all together. Denial had been Mickey’s best friend for most of his life, and he would be damned if Yevgeny were to suffer a similar fate. 

“Papa why do you have that funny look on your face? Can we go back outside?” 

Mickey realized he’d been sitting there, gawking at his own kid for longer than he’d intended. He shook his upper body a bit to focus himself, and carefully wrapped his tattooed fingers around his son’s hands, holding them up in front of him so that Yevgeny would pay attention. 

“In a minute, Yev.” Mickey felt the little boys’ fingers tighten around his and his body stopped wriggling on Mickey’s lap. “Listen to me for a second okay? I’m gonna be honest with you… your pops used to think it was gross for someone to have two dads’ once upon a time, just like Andy’s dad.” The thug hoped he was making sense to the little boy who was staring at him intently, hanging on every word. 

Yevgeny’s eyes went wide with shock as he tried to process what his dad was saying to him. “Really?” He questioned in disbelief. When Mickey nodded, the little boy cocked his head to the side, his mind making connections a mile a minute. “Does that mean you were an idiot papa?” The little boy gave his father a big cheesy grin, pleased at his own joke. 

Mickey was amused by Yevgeny’s sharp wit, but he also knew that the little boy had no idea how correct he really was. 

“Yep I sure was.” Mickey responded truthfully. “But I learned a lot after I met your daddy. It took me a long time, and it was… really hard. I had to stop feeling bad about myself and learn to be okay with who I am, Yev. At the end of the day that’s all that matters. People don’t have to be idiots forever.” Mickey wasn’t entirely convinced of his last statement. Recent events had made him feel pretty fucking idiotic. But it was a nice lesson to teach the kid, even if he wasn’t sure that he was right. 

“Why did you feel bad papa?” Yevgeny shot back, curiosity filling his eyes, not having the wisdom to understand what a hideously loaded question that was. 

Mickey sucked in a deep breath through his nose and became acutely aware that every muscle in his body tensed at the little boy's inquiry. This was uncomfortable territory to be traversing out of the blue. But there would never really be a right time to explain to his son what a waste of space his “grandfather” was.

“Yev, do you remember when you asked me if my dad used to play lego with me like you and I do?” 

“Uh huh,” the little boy replied in earnest. 

“And do you remember what I told you?” Mickey prodded, seeing if recognition would flash on the little boys face.”

Yevgeny cast his blue eyes to the ceiling to think for a moment before looking back at his father. “Mmmm I think so. You said… you dad was not nice to you like you are to me. You said that he did bad things to you and Aunt Mandy and Uncle Iggy.”

Mickey nodded stoically, trying to not give too much thought to how fucked up it was that he had to find a way to explain to his son that Terry Milkovich ruined his goddamn childhood right from the beginning. He thought briefly about his so-called father, sitting in a prison cell, having been picked up a year ago for setting the fire at the reception hall on the day of his son’s wedding. The bastard got 7 years for “aggravated arson”, and it would have been a hell of a lot more if Mickey had agreed to cooperate with law enforcement for a second more than he was forced to. Mickey hated cops. And that wasn’t going to change, no matter how far away from the slums he got. 

Mickey had to forcibly remove the train of thought from his head to continue the delicate conversation he was having with his son, who was still cradled in his lap, expectantly awaiting the man’s response.

“Right. Well when my dad found out that I liked your daddy, he started being extra mean to me. He didn’t want me to be like that. And that made me not want to be like that either.” Mickey felt like his vocabulary was severely lacking, but Yevgeny was nodding along like he was understanding, which made him feel slightly less shitty. 

“Your daddy helped me understand that my dad was wrong about me. He made me understand that it doesn’t matter if you like boys or girls… or anyone, as long as you’re happy.” Mickey was sure his entire heart was lodged in his throat as he gave his son some of his most important advice, “Let people live, okay Yev? If people are happy leave them alone.”

Yevgeny’s little face softened, and he presented Mickey with a sweet smile before diving into his chest for a tight hug. Mickey tried to will his heart to steady so that Yevgeny wouldn’t know how in over his head he was feeling as he wrapped his large arms around this son’s small frame and pressed his lips to the tender skin of the boy’s forehead. Mickey felt his vision cloud with scorching unbidden tears as he heard the little boy mumble, “Okay, Papa…I’m happy your dad doesn’t hurt you anymore,” into the nape of his neck as they embraced.

Mickey did not think he could possibly love his son any more until that moment, and once again he was proven very wrong. “Me too, kid, me too…” he murmured in response, raising a hand to roughly swipe away the moisture from his eyes before Yevgeny could see. Mickey cleared his throat as Yevgeny began slithering out of the hug. 

“C’mon, let’s go back outside. Daddy’s probably wondering what’s taking us so long,” Mickey tapped Yevgeny’s backside lightly, giving him the signal to get off his lap. Yevgeny obeyed, hopping to his feet to allow Mickey to twist his torso and brace his forearm against the wall in order to push himself up.

As Yevgeny skipped down the stairs in front of him, Mickey had to admit; he was happy. He felt a little more in control now than he had for a while. The ex-con made a mental note to add the little discussion he had just had with Yevgeny to the mounting list of things he and Ian needed to talk about that night when they finally got some time alone. His head was feeling a bit fuzzy from the amount of talking he had done that day. He hadn’t spent so much time talking about his fucking feelings in… well, ever. 

_After tonight I need to cool it with the emotions_ , he thought to himself wryly. _I’m gonna put myself in the fucking hospital with all the sappy shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and tell me what you think! I'd love to hear your thoughts! :)


End file.
